Thy Will Be Done
by Gertrude2034
Summary: House’s biological father dies and leaves House a bequest in his will. At the will reading House meets an intriguing woman and learns his father enjoyed playing games with people – including his son. Rated M for sex scenes. House/OC
1. Chapter 1

_This story is dedicated to my lovely friend Hayles who bears her constant pain with grace and dignity. House could use a leaf out of her book. _

_**Summary:** _ House's biological father dies and leaves House a bequest in his will. At the will reading House meets an intriguing woman and learns his father enjoyed playing games with people – including his son. Rated T for now, might change later.

* * *

**Thy Will Be Done**  
by Gertrude2034

House looked up from his desk, annoyed by the intrusion. He was right in the middle of the latest nephrology journal and, although it might not be the definition of most people's "thrilling read", he was absorbed and resented being torn out of the almost meditative space he'd been in.

"Dr House?"

"That's what it says on the door." He shook his head. _How stupid could people be?_ They still managed to surprise him. The guy standing with one hand holding the door open was well-dressed, but somehow nervous-looking, as if he wasn't quite sure he wanted to come in.

"Dr House, I'm—" the guy began, taking a tentative step forward.

House interrupted with an educated guess. "Look, we're doing everything we can for your wife/girlfriend/sister/cousin. Whoever. Hassling me isn't going to make a difference. Go talk to one of the other doctors. They'll pat you on the back and make you feel better. I'm busy."

For some reason, House's words had the opposite effect to what he'd intended. The guy seemed to straighten up and took a couple of more confident steps, bringing him closer to House's desk.

"That's not what I'm here about, Doctor."

House took in his appearance more fully. Shiny, expensive shoes. An expensively tailored suit. Leather briefcase. Dark circles under his eyes betraying late nights at the office.

House took off his glasses and rubbed his face with the heels of both hands. He affected not to be bothered by such things, but, for any doctor – even him – being sued wasn't a matter of small importance. For House it meant three irritating things: a great deal of hated paperwork, it took up time that he'd rather be spending on just about anything else, and, usually, it cost money. House wasn't generally overly concerned with money, but if his insurance premiums went up much more, he'd seriously have to sit down and look at his practice's viability. He didn't really like to concern himself with such things; he just wanted to solve diagnostic puzzles and let the rest look after itself. But House was no idiot, he knew his balance sheet, understood his profit and loss, knew where his money was and what it was doing.

Enough to know that being sued – again – was going to be a pain in the ass. "Just give me the papers and get out of here," he said tiredly, holding out a resigned hand. Rain began pattering against the window behind him, a meteorological echo of his melancholy.

A confused expression crossed the guy's face, but he sat down in the chair opposite House's desk and opened his briefcase.

"My name is Jake Walker and I'm with Bannister McKinnon, attorneys-at-law."

"How did I guess?" House muttered under his breath.

"I'm here about your father's will." He looked up, pulled a manila envelope from his briefcase and placed it neatly in his lap.

That gave House a start. He frowned and dropped his extended hand. "I thought my mother took care of all that?" He leaned back in his chair and recalled his mother's tentative phone call after the funeral, explaining that she and his father had agreed that the first one to die would leave everything to the other. Then, when they died, it would all go to their son. His mother had been almost apologetic, clearly imagining that House must have been expecting to receive something. House hadn't cared in the slightest. "My mother explained how they'd structured their wills. I'm happy with things the way they are."

"I'm sorry, I think you've misunderstood. I'm not talking about John House," the lawyer explained patiently. "I'm here about your _biological father_. Unfortunately Mr Barnes died two weeks ago."

House looked at the lawyer and was momentarily speechless. It wasn't something he was terribly familiar with.

_His father had died._

_Again._

He searched inside himself for an appropriate response, hunted down his elusive emotions to try to work out how he felt. _Sad? Grief-stricken? Upset?_ No, no and no. _Confused_. Yes. _Disturbed_. Also yes.

_Strange_.

"Mr Barnes?" House prompted, sitting up straight in his chair and giving the attorney his full attention. House's gaze seemed to unsettle the man for a moment and he fiddled with his papers before answering, finally clicking his briefcase shut and placing it on the floor.

"Yes, our client, Mr Andrew Barnes, has named you as one of the beneficiaries in his last will and testament."

_Andrew Barnes._ House considered it for a moment. It was the man he'd suspected all along, a friend of his father's – and, clearly, of his mother's – but not a military man. He didn't exactly know how their lives had intersected.

"I'm sorry you weren't informed of his death sooner, but his family weren't made aware of your existence until, uh, recently."

"Death bed confession?" House asked with a sarcastically raised eyebrow.

"Something like that," the lawyer said hurriedly. "Mr Barnes has been unwell for a while now," he continued, "and following John House's death he amended his will. You had always been included, but Mr Barnes was quite specific in making sure you were only to be contacted after John House's death."

House snorted. What, was that some kind of bizarre chivalry? To not publicly acknowledge your bastard child while the man who'd brought him up was still breathing?

"How did he die?" House was vaguely shocked to hear the words coming out of his mouth – he didn't want it to sound as if he cared. He quickly rationalised it – it was useful to know about any genetic health issues he might be prone to.

"Bowel cancer," the other man answered quickly. "He was diagnosed about two years ago. It was treated and went into remission for a while, but he relapsed about two months ago."

House nodded. _Cancer._ _Boring._ It was time to get to the heart of the matter and get this guy out of his office so he could think. "Right, so what did I get? What's my loot? Am I rich or did I get given responsibility for some moth-eaten cat?" House wasn't exactly shaking in anticipation of receiving some astonishing bequest. More likely it would be some piece of family china, he figured, or a painting, or some such thing that would only become another dust-catcher in his apartment. Assuming he actually bothered to take it home.

The lawyer looked only vaguely shocked at House's blatant materialism. "I'm sorry Dr House, but I can't tell you that. Your father left some rather, uh, unusual stipulations in his will."

House couldn't help wincing slightly every time the lawyer said "your father". The words had never meant anything good in the past and, he figured, probably still didn't – even though they now applied to a completely different person.

"One of the stipulations is that you must attend the will reading along with his family. It will be held at our offices in New York, next Monday."

"_What?_"

The lawyer's professional demeanour didn't waver. "As I said, Dr House, Mr Barnes was very specific. You must attend the will reading in order to discover what he has bequeathed to you."

"_With_ his family," House said, just to be clear.

"Yes, along with his family."

House was completely thrown. For a moment. Then the solution became clear. "I'm not doing it."

The lawyer frowned, but didn't seem particularly disturbed by this turn of events. "I'd strongly advise you to be there, Dr House."

House leaned back in his chair and waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not playing a dead man's game. I don't need any inheritance. You can just share it out among everyone else. Hell, donate it to the cat protection society. I don't care."

"Do you know much about your biological father, Dr House?"

The shrewd look in the lawyer's eyes gave House a moment of pause. In actual fact, he knew very little. The suspicions he'd had throughout his life had been enough. Something had kept him from wanting to explore this other factor in his genetic make-up. He deliberately hadn't wanted to think too much about why his usual curiosity had been lacking in this one particular area, but at some level he knew the reason. He had already been a crappy son to one crappy father. He understood all too well how much that hurt and how intense that pain could be. House was under no illusions that a different man might produce a different result. There was no need to risk another dose.

The lawyer continued without waiting for House to respond. "Just let me say that I think it would be in your interests to be there next Monday. I think it will be very beneficial to you, and not just financially." With that cryptic comment, the young man rose, grabbed his briefcase and pushed a business card across the desk to House. "The address of our offices," he explained. "I hope to see you there at one pm on Monday. Please feel free to call if you have questions, although I can't give you any further information than what I have today."

He walked to the door and opened it, pausing only slightly to wish House a good day.

The glass door swung shut and House pushed his chair away from his desk, spinning around to look out the window.

"_Crap_." He let out a heartfelt sigh.

-

* * *

-

"Jake Walker from Bannister McKinnon, here to see Ms Brecht."

"I'll just see if Catherine is available." The receptionist at the offices of the NJPRC – New Jersey Pain Research Council – picked up her phone.

The exchange could be heard from her office and so without waiting for her phone to ring, she got up, straightened her suit jacket, and headed out towards the reception area. It wasn't everyday a mysterious lawyer booked in an appointment with her – she could only hope he might be there with a bequest. As the Executive Director of a small medical research funding organisation, private donations and general fundraising were her top priority. Without it, they could close their doors right away. They barely scraped by as it was. There was never enough money for medical research, and especially not for the non-media friendly, non-specific field of chronic pain. They had no pink ribbon, no celebrity spokesperson, no concerts. Just thousands of people who lived with pain every day of their lives, some because of injury or disease, others for reasons that had yet to be explained by medical science.

"Mr Walker." She greeted the waiting lawyer with a broad smile. "Lovely to meet you. Shall we go into my office?"

The young and nervous-looking lawyer took her hand in his for a quick handshake and then followed her in the office. As soon as the door closed behind him, he turned to her with a frown.

"Ms Brecht? _Catherine_ Brecht?"

"Yes, that's right." Her smile faded, wondering what this was about. Suddenly she wasn't so sure it was a donation.

"Uh, would you also be known as _Kitty_ Brecht?"

She felt herself go pale. That name belonged in her past. Although she thought of herself by that name, had grown up with it, professionally now she known to everyone as Catherine. There was only one person who'd still call her Kitty.

"Why?" She moved around to her chair and sat down, for some reason wanting to put the barrier of the desk between them.

The lawyer took the seat opposite her and pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. After a moment, he looked at her frankly. "I'm here about the estate of Mr Andrew Barnes. You have been named as one of his beneficiaries."

"Andrew? His _estate_? Oh, God." Kitty put a hand to her mouth and clutched the desk with the other, feeling as if the world had suddenly shifted underneath her.

The lawyer's mouth formed a thin line. "I'm sorry, Ms Brecht, Mrs Barnes led me to understand you'd already been informed about Mr Barnes's passing."

Of course Rachael Barnes would say that she already knew, let the lawyers drop the news on her like a bomb. Just a tiny stab of revenge from the woman who'd never really understood her husband. "No, I . . ." Kitty felt a wave of nausea pass through her. It had been more than five years since she'd last seen Andrew. She'd heard through the grapevine that he'd been ill, but she'd somehow missed hearing this. Clearly the efforts they'd made to put space between each other had been effective. "I . . . didn't know."

"It was about two weeks ago. You knew he had cancer?"

Kitty gave a small nod.

"Unfortunately after a year of remission the cancer returned aggressively. It happened very quickly."

Taking a deep breath, Kitty made an enormous effort to pull herself together. She fished a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. After a few moments she decided she was together enough to continue with the conversation.

"I'm sorry Mr Walker, I just wasn't expecting that news. Andrew was . . . a good friend to me."

He gave her a thin smile. "I understand."

Kitty bristled at the undertone of his voice and the look in his eyes that told her knew exactly what sort of friend he thought Andrew had been to her. She clenched her teeth to prevent herself from saying something she'd regret. No one had ever understood what had been between her and Andrew. No one ever would.

The lawyer handed her his business card. "Ms Brecht, this card has the address of our offices. Mr Barnes's last will and testament will be read there at one pm on Monday. You need to be there in order to be eligible to receive your bequest."

"_What?_" She sucked in a breath. No. Surely Andrew wouldn't do something like that to her. He liked his games, she remembered that. And he'd never been above manipulating people to get what he wanted. But to force her to be in the same room as his wife and children? Forget it.

"I'm afraid they are the terms of his will, Ms Brecht. And it will be in your best interests to be there. And the best interests of your charity," he added, looking around the office that had clearly seen better days.

Catherine swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can manage it." She hated that her voice was so weak; she sounded like a little girl.

The lawyer nodded as if he'd expected nothing different. "I understand. Nevertheless, I hope to see you on Monday. Good day, Ms Brecht."

The lawyer left her office and closed the door behind him. Kitty let out a shaky breath that was almost a sob.

_Andrew._ _Just what sort of game are you playing?_


	2. Chapter 2

"So the guy from the funeral – the one who looked like Sean Connery – really _is_ your father?" Wilson's mouth hung slightly open in amazement.

House shrugged and pinched another French fry from Wilson's plate. That wasn't such a big deal. He'd gotten over that piece of news in his twelfth year. He'd had plenty of thinking time that summer, what with his dad not speaking to him. Or allowing him to leave the house.

"_Was_," House corrected.

"And he's left you something in his will?"

House rolled his eyes. Wilson had a habit of repeating back what House had just told him rephrased as a question. House guessed it was what he needed to do in order to process it.

"Yes. But the kicker is that I have to go to the will reading and meet the family in order to find out what my loot is."

"_Really?_"

House could tell that Wilson was intrigued, astonished and ever-so-slightly jealous of House's little drama. It was probably time Wilson started dating again, if this was the highlight of his friend's week.

"How cool. House, you're going to get to meet your family!"

"What? No, I'm not."

"You're not going?"

"I can't believe you'd think I would." House was honestly surprised that Wilson thought he'd go.

"But, but, you have to!" Wilson spluttered.

"Why?" House leaned back in the cafeteria chair and took a long slurp of his thickshake, genuinely curious.

"What if he's left you something amazing? What if you're a millionaire?"

House shrugged. He really, truly, didn't care. He had enough money to live his life the way he wanted to. It wasn't like he had anyone to support or children to build a fortune for. If he suddenly did have millions, he was in no doubt that his life would barely change. Well, he might buy himself a new car, but that would probably be it.

"What if his family turns out to be wonderful and want you to be part of their lives?"

Only Wilson could think that could even remotely be a benefit. "Yep, Wilson, that's totally a possibility," House said in a valley-girl accent, his sarcasm thick. "Like I really need another family. 'Cause families are so wonderful."

"There are good families out there," Wilson protested.

"What, like yours? Mine? Anyone else we know? Families exist to fuck you up and then you spend your adult life either getting over it or having one of your own so you can fuck them up too."

Wilson seemed a little shocked at House's outburst and House himself was a little embarrassed – he hadn't really meant to admit that particular theory out loud.

"I still think you should go," Wilson said weakly. "Just for the money, if nothing else."

"I don't care about the money."

"I know you don't. But I bet you still end up going."

"How much?"

"Five hundred dollars."

"You're on." House knew he wouldn't go. But if he did, whatever he was going to inherit surely had to be worth at least five hundred bucks. He couldn't lose.

-

* * *

-

Despite the conversation with Wilson, House was completely and firmly decided that he wasn't going to attend the will reading. The final wishes of a dead man who was related to him by an accident of ejaculation meant nothing to him. For the entire weekend he lay on his sofa, watching mindless television and telling himself that he didn't care one iota what Andrew Barnes had dictated from his deathbed.

But despite his definitive decision, as he pushed open the doors of Bannister McKinnon on Monday lunchtime, House realised that he wasn't all that surprised to find himself there. He only hoped he was going to get at least five hundred dollars to make this capitulation to his curiosity worthwhile.

It was all an elaborate game, he'd decided. A game started by a dead man and House would play his part – for now. Once he found out the next step, then he'd decide whether or not he'd keep playing.

The Madison Avenue offices were plush: thick carpet underfoot, wood panelling on the walls, discreet but expensive art on the walls. The lawyers of a wealthy man. House wondered again why he'd never taken the time to find out more about his biological father. Why had his otherwise unquenchable curiosity faltered? It was like this issue was a curiosity black hole, sucking in light and letting nothing escape, a vortex of disinterest that he couldn't break free from.

"Dr House, thank you for joining us." The lawyer who'd come to his office walked over and shook his hand, looking in no way surprised to see him there. "Please come with me and I'll introduce you to the Barnes family. They are aware that you are joining them and Mr Barnes made sure they understood his feelings on this. They are well prepared to meet you."

_The Barnes family._ House once again refused to let himself wonder what his life might have been like if he'd grown up Greg _Barnes_. All weekend – ever since the lawyer had appeared with this news – he'd been battling a mental re-run of _Sliding Doors,_ only this time _he_ was poncy blonde Gwyneth and the missed train was a child that might have belonged in one of two families. The possibilities, both good and bad, were as enticing as one of those pizzas with too many toppings, and just as bad for his digestion.

No, better not to think about them at all.

"Dr House, this is Mrs Rachael Barnes." Without House realising, the lawyer had steered him into a conference room where three adults stared back at him with the blue eyes he saw in the mirror every morning. It was creepy enough to make him shiver slightly.

"To her left is Denis Barnes, their eldest child, and this is Miranda Barnes, their daughter."

_My half-brother and half-sister,_ House thought in wonderment_._ How he had longed for a sibling when he was a child. A built-in friend, someone who travelled with them, not one he had to leave behind each time. The very thought was enough to stop him in his tracks and he stood there, frozen, staring back at them for a long moment of silence, broken only by the nervous shuffling of feet from the lawyer.

Denis Barnes was the one who recovered first. A tall, portly man, House guessed he was around sixty; he'd obviously lived well, had a problem with his cholesterol and from the purplish broken capillaries on his nose and cheeks was likely going to die from either a heart attack, liver failure or – hey, he was genetically predisposed – cancer. And probably soon. He was also almost completely bald and House had to stifle the impulse to pat his own thinning hair.

"Greg House? It's, uh, nice to meet you," he said, and despite the hesitation House could tell it was a genuine greeting with just a hint of the suspicion House had expected to find in abundance. He returned the man's handshake but strangely found himself unable to say anything.

Miranda stood up and walked around the large conference table that dominated the room until she stood in front of him. She also held out her hand to shake and gave him a watery smile, her eyes red-rimmed. She didn't say anything, but sniffed delicately. Her handshake was as limp as a dead octopus and now that she was up close House didn't miss the heavy makeup or the way her hair was deliberately brushed forward to cover her hairline. Her little turned-up nose and almond-shaped eyes didn't match her mother or her brother, and House wondered with the obvious family money why she hadn't gone to a decent plastic surgeon.

"Our dad—" she began, but her voice broke into a small sob. She put a hand to her forehead in a dramatic way and gave him an apologetic smile before turning back to her seat and rummaging through her purse for a tissue.

House guessed that they were both older than him, although Miranda's extensive plastic surgery made it hard for him to be sure.

Rachael Barnes was the last to greet him. She looked like the grandmother he'd have wanted as a child: soft, curly grey hair, apple-cheeks, bright blue eyes just like his mother. Andrew Barnes seemed to have a thing for blue-eyed girls, it seemed. Rachael was older than his mother by at least ten years, House guessed, but she was fit and healthy and House was shocked by the smile on her face as she approached him.

"Oh, Greg. It's so lovely to finally meet you," she said. And then she hugged him. Fully. Her arms threaded under his so she could wrap herself around his torso and press her cheek against his chest. She was short, House could feel her cheekbone against his ribcage, her pillowy bosom squished somewhere against his stomach. And although he'd never met this woman before, and although he was the illegitimate son of her unfaithful husband, and although this was one of the most surreal moments of his life, House felt comforted. He wanted nothing more than to hug her back, to curl up and rest his head on her shoulder, to have her tell him that everything was going to be okay and that she'd make it all go away. Because House had the strangest idea that he might believe her.

And because the very idea frankly frightened the crap out of him, he stayed ramrod straight, gazing out the window across to yet another glass office tower, his face as impassive as he had trained it to be.

After a moment Denis cleared his throat. "Uh, Mother . . . I don't think you . . ."

House could feel the rise and fall of Rachael Barnes's chest. She wasn't crying, her breathing was steady, but there was something in the grip of her arms around him that betrayed she was only just reigning it in, that her control over herself hung on a very fine thread. He reached his free hand around and patted her on the back, awkwardly, making House exceedingly glad there was no one he knew there to see this.

Eventually Rachael Barnes pulled back. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. She patted his chest as she stepped back.

"Don't mind me," she said. "It's just you're the spitting image of . . ." She trailed off, her eyes glazing slightly in memory.

House frowned. There was something a touch artificial about the woman, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. Those tears seemed more convenient than sincere. And while he might not know much about his biological father, he did know what he looked like. House didn't see that much of a resemblance, but he did think that in comparison to Denis, he probably looked a little more similar. He had the same build anyway; Denis's beer and pizza – correction, red wine and foie gras – gut and complexion was nothing like the straight-backed, ropey build of Andrew Barnes. Even when House had last seen him, at the funeral – when he would have been about to re-succumb to the cancer – the man had still looked fit.

House's determination to make this all a game seemed hollow. He had a sudden urge to leave the room and try to forget any of this had ever happened.

"Shall we make a start?" The loud voice startled everyone. Without anyone noticing, including House, a small team of lawyers had entered the room. A severe-looking older man held a sheaf of papers in his hand and he walked to the head of the table as he spoke, gesturing for everyone to take a seat.

The smiles from his family – _gulp!_ House swallowed hard at even _thinking_ the word – suddenly disappeared, replaced with stern, worried expressions. This was, after all, about money. Now they were going to get to the part House had actually been prepared for – angry and resentful glares that the bastard son had dared to show his face to claim a slice of whatever fortune had been left behind. After all, that was the game that Andrew Barnes had set up – it was his chess board and he'd laid out the pieces. Now House, now _everyone_, had to play their part.

House quashed his urge to turn around and walk out, instead taking a seat around the large conference table. The other players weren't to know he had absolutely no interest in any material gain from this will. He just wanted to satisfy his curiosity and find out what on earth an absentee father would decide to leave his illegitimate offspring, and why he would insist on that son meeting the rest of his family after all these years.

However, House's attention quickly wore away as the lawyer droned on reading through Andrew Barnes' testament. It took the form of a long, tedious letter he had written on his deathbed to his family. He had obviously been medicated at the time he'd dictated it, and the lawyers had been meticulous in capturing his words verbatim, meaning that it was repetitive, rambling and often didn't make sense.

House stifled a yawn. So far the game was turning out to be less fun that he'd anticipated.

Suddenly there was a flurry at the door and a flustered looking girl poked her head in the door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr Bannister," she said, talking to the lawyer who was reading out the will, "but Miss Brecht has arrived, her train was running late."

House couldn't help but pick up the change of mood in the room at those words. Each member of the Barnes family shared a shocked, apprehensive look. Denis straightened up in the chair and smoothed down his tie, his eyes gleaming with some emotion House couldn't pin down. Rachael frowned and her eyes took on a hard glint, while Miranda took no pains to hide the sneer on her face.

House was suddenly very interested in the proceedings again.

"Show her in." The senior lawyer looked over at Rachael Barnes. "I'm sorry Mrs Barnes, but she was one of the additional people invited to the will reading along with Dr House. Only, unlike with Dr House, Mr Barnes instructed us not to inform you of Ms Brecht's presence prior to today."

House noticed Rachael gave him a sharp nod before taking a sudden interest in the rings on her left hand. He suppressed a grin. A last minute addition to the game – _intriguing_.

"Ms Kitty Brecht," the girl announced as a tall woman walked into the room. House instantly understood the gleam that had appeared in Denis Barnes's eyes. She wasn't Christy Brinkley, but she was pretty darn close. In fact, if House added twenty pounds and a larger, slightly crooked nose to his mental picture of Christy, he pretty much ended up with the woman now standing in the room in front of him. Her blonde hair swung around her shoulders, and the Cuddy-style suit outlined a curvaceous figure. No cleavage was on show, but the pencil skirt showed off long, shapely legs. She had bright blue eyes too, and House had a fleeting thought about Andrew Barnes wanting to build the perfect Aryan nation around him.

"I apologise for being late." The woman held herself confidently, even regally, but House could see that it was a show: when she sat down, she folded her hands in her lap to hide that they were shaking. She sat down a few seats away from him – away from everyone else, actually – but House could see her eye make-up had been touched up; she'd clearly been crying.

Funny, House suddenly realised that of all the people in the room, _she_ was the only one who looked like they were honestly grieving.

"Shall we continue?" Mr Bannister drew their attention again as soon as the blonde woman was seated.

House was burning to know more about her. He'd put her in her late thirties. His brain was filled with questions. _Was she another half-sister? If so, what was the legal situation regarding incest between half-siblings? And her name was Kitty? Would she purr when he stroked her? _Wicked thoughts running through his brain meant House was only half-listening to the lawyer.

"And to my son, Greg," the lawyer finally announced.

Suddenly his attention snapped back to the room around him. It was extremely peculiar to hear the words "my son Greg" all together like that. He couldn't recall his father, John House, saying those three words, although possibly that was because there was usually another adjective between the "my" and the "son" – like "idiot" or "annoying" or just plain "stupid".

"I regret that I was not in an appropriate position to be able to provide for Greg as a child or to be part of his life as an adult. I have a box of personal papers that will be passed on to him after this meeting. That is for him to decide and what he wants to do with it and . . . uh . . . whether he wishes to share its contents with anyone else is for him to decide."

The lawyer's tentative reading reflected the muddled grammar of the medicated, dying man who'd dictated it.

House sighed. _So he was getting a box of crap?_ He'd come all the way to New York for that? He guessed the upside was the nice eye candy he'd had to spark his imagination for the last half-hour or so, but really, what a waste of a day.

And now he owed Wilson five hundred bucks.

"In addition," the lawyer continued and House paid attention again, "I bequeath my 2009 Mercedes SL63 AMG convertible, the Spring Lake beach house and my apartment in Paris – the Marais one, not the left-bank one," the lawyer qualified.

House choked. He quickly looked around the room, wanting to see the reaction of the dead man's family to this astonishingly generous gift to a bastard child. Bizarrely enough, no one seemed in the slightest bit perturbed. Clearly the Barnes fortune was considerable if a bequest like that didn't even cause his family to blink.

"However I do have one important stipulation to this bequest that I will get to in a minute.

"To my friend Kitty," the lawyer went on. House saw the woman stiffen slightly in her chair. _My friend? Hmm._ _So not a half-sibling then_. House could feel himself smirk.

"I know you remember the things we shared and the promises we made. I want you to know that although we haven't been close recently, I couldn't be more proud of you."

House noticed that the garbled tone of the letter so far had suddenly cleared up. The dying Andrew Barnes had definitely been paying attention when he'd dictated this part.

House saw Kitty swallow hard.

"I know that anything I give to you, you will find a way to auction off to raise money for that – excuse the language ladies and gentlemen, but I am reading verbatim – fucking charity of yours."

House was staring frankly at Kitty Brecht now, and he was surprised that the words "fucking charity" seemed to make her smile rather than offend her.

"So, with one small condition, I have set up a trust that will pay a stipend to the New Jersey PRC of half-a-million dollars annually."

In contrast to the bland reaction to his bequest, this time the family muttered and hissed, while Kitty gasped and put a hand to her throat.

"In addition," the lawyer continued above the murmured protests, "I have a small gift that you are to keep, it is not to be used to raise funds for the charity – I forbid you to sell it."

One of the other lawyers in the room walked over to where Kitty sat. He produced a small blue-and-white Tiffany bag and put it on the table in front of the blonde woman. She nodded curtly and House could see she was holding back tears.

The guy then pushed a large manila envelope in front of House. "Your keys and the titles to your properties," he said quietly. "The Mercedes is in the car park in the basement, and the box of papers referred to earlier is in the trunk. If you need assistance to drive it home, please let us know." House had caught the train into the city and couldn't help the stab of delight at knowing he was actually going to be driving home in a Mercedes convertible. _His_ Mercedes convertible. Of course, he could have gone out and bought one for himself at any point – he had the money – but there was a certain thrill that came with getting one _for free_.

"Ah, there is still the small matter of the conditions for the bequests," the lawyer cautioned.

House's momentary thrill was suddenly quashed. Andrew Barnes had already established he didn't mind playing games. Inviting his illegitimate son and a woman House was now almost sure had been his mistress to meet his family at his will reading was the mark of a man who didn't mind messing with people. In fact, House thought with sour relish, it might be something he himself would do.

"Kitty, the PRC is in need of new blood, new ideas and new thinking. As part of my bequest to the charity, I insist on appointing a new Chairman of the Council, effective immediately and for a period of not less than 12 months. As part of my bequest to Greg, I insist on him taking up the position of Chairman, effective immediately and for a period of not less than 12 months."

Kitty Brecht's mouth dropped open and she turned to stare at House. House felt his face must have been a mirror image of hers.

"What?" she asked, her voice a breathless whisper.

"What?" House echoed.

"Should you not agree to this condition, Kitty, you will keep the jewellery but the trust will be diverted to another charity of Rachael's choosing."

_Ouch,_ House thought. He didn't need to turn his head to know that Rachael's face would be a picture of vindication.

"Should you not agree to this condition, Greg, you will keep the car but you will have to return the properties to the estate."

House didn't particularly care about owning properties, not even a lake house just an hour and half from Princeton. He hated Paris, so he doubted he'd ever bother to see the apartment. But why would the father who'd never known him want him to take on a lead role in a charity? House had no idea what the New Jersey PRC was, or what it did. For all he cared it could be the Prostitutes' Rights Collective – actually, he internally shrugged, that could be kinda fun.

House decided he'd had enough of this particular game. He wasn't interested in playing for twelve months, no matter how nice the scenery might be.

Check.

Mate.

_Game over._

"I'm not doing it," House said bluntly. He upended the envelope and three sets of keys fell out. He grabbed the one with the tri-point-star keyring and began to rise. "So, I'll just take my Mercedes and leave you to it."

"But—" Kitty stood up as if to stop him. "You can't! You don't understand, that trust fund would—"

"I don't care." House shrugged and took a step towards the door. He wasn't sure how to say good bye to the Barnes family, but seeing as it was fairly unlikely he'd ever see them again, he figured it didn't really matter. He waved vaguely in their direction.

"But Andrew didn't think this through," Kitty turned back to the lawyer and protested urgently. "The charter of the Council states that it must have a senior doctor as Chair! I can't change that, and the board would never agree to a change at this point in the year."

"Greg _is_ a doctor, and I assure you, Mr Barnes had us research this situation extensively. There is a clause in your Council's operating agreement that states you are allowed to appoint a new Chairman at any time as long as the existing chair agrees. I think when you return to your office, you will find your board members – and your current Chairman – will all be in favour of this decision."

House paused at the door and watched as Kitty sputtered. He kind of felt sorry for her – clearly Andrew Barnes' game for her was complex and well-planned, to the point that the situation had been manipulated around her. She seemed equal parts angry, frustrated and sad and didn't seem to know which one to give vent to first.

But as sexy as she looked with her cheeks all flushed in righteous indignation, House wasn't going to hang around. Marching quickly he headed to the door, ignoring the calls from just about everyone else in the room. Rushing to an open elevator, he gratefully watched the doors close and hit the button for the basement. He rubbed the key ring between his fingers. He couldn't wait to see the car, but the bequest had in no way changed House's opinion of families. That father of his sure was a bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

Andrew couldn't do this to her! Surely not, not after all this time. Not that she'd ever expected anything . . . like this. She felt her chest begin to tighten with the stress of it all and told herself to calm down. Passing out would _not_ help the situation. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before sitting down again. She closed her eyes for a moment and considered whether or not she needed to take a pill. Another breath, and no, she was okay, no medication required. She opened her eyes and looked around the room, the bland stares from the lawyers who'd seen it all before, the nasty, pointed stares from Rachael and Miranda, the angry yet still sleazy look from Denis that made her vaguely nauseous. Actually, now that the other guy had left, Kitty thought, there was no reason for her to hang around either.

She turned to one of the lawyers. "Can you give me—" _What was that guy's name again?_ – "Greg's contact details? I'll try to speak to him again about this."

He pushed a folded up piece of paper across the table to her and Kitty shoved it in her purse without looking.

"I must warn you Ms Brecht, that these conditions are binding. Unless you both agree to meet them within the next seven days, the trust for the PRC will be revoked."

"A week," Kitty muttered. "Great." She got up, grabbed her Tiffany bag, stuffed the keys House had tipped out back into the manila envelope and put it under her arm. Somehow, she'd convince him to make this happen, and then the properties would be his. And if he didn't want them – as it appeared he didn't – then she'd take them and they'd make wonderful fundraising auction items.

"I'd say it's been nice to see you again, but it hasn't," Kitty said.

No one bothered to say anything in return, simply amped up their evil stares instead. Kitty had never understood Andrew's family. Of course, she knew they had every reason not to like her, but she'd never known them to like _anyone_. No wonder Andrew had to find company elsewhere.

As she walked to the elevator, the young woman who'd shown her into the room and been sympathetic about her transport difficulties sidled up to her.

"Ms Brecht? If you want to go back to Princeton, you could catch a lift with Mr Barnes's son. That might give you a chance to talk to him about all this too," she added sympathetically. "He's just gone down to the basement to collect the Mercedes. If you're quick you'll probably catch him."

_Mr Barnes's son?_ Kitty belated realised that she hadn't given any thought to why the guy had been in the room in the first place, too caught up in trying to pretend that Andrew's family's glares were having no effect on her. So _he_ was the illegitimate son that Andrew used to talk about so wistfully. The only woman he'd ever really loved, he'd confessed, secure enough to know that Kitty wouldn't be hurt by that.

Kitty had reams of material that could shatter that family, but no matter what they did, she'd always determined to maintain the high ground, to stay true to the promises she'd made to Andrew, to only behave in ways she knew would allow herself to sleep at night. But, _half a million dollars a year_. She bounced on her heels as she repeatedly hit the "B" button, praying for the elevator to move more quickly. The difference that money could make – the research that it could fund – Kitty knew she had to do whatever she could to secure it.

When she reached the basement she wandered around for a moment, her heels echoing loudly throughout the concrete bunker. Finally she found him, walking a slow circle around a wine-red Mercedes convertible, a blissful expression on his face. In fact, she couldn't help but smile as she looked at him, his expression was so incongruent: the grin of a five-year old on Christmas morning on the face of someone quite considerably older. And he walked with a cane – she had been too distracted earlier to notice. She filed that piece of information away, sure it would help her case later.

He'd have to be close to fifty, Kitty guessed, remembering the timeframes Andrew had alluded to. Around ten years older than herself, but he looked good for his age. Scruffy but attractive, his body in good shape; he hadn't even bothered to put on a tie for something most people would consider to be a formal occasion. And he was a doctor? From Princeton? Not one she'd ever met, and Kitty prided herself on her knowledge of Princeton's medical community. She'd schmoozed, entertained and cajoled just about every doctor in the county at one fundraiser or another. Sometimes it felt as if that was all she did with her life: work all day at the office, then pretend to have fun at some gala dinner every night.

"Pretty nice, huh?" he called to her, without turning from his admiration of the vehicle in front him.

Kitty was initially startled, but then realised it wasn't remotely possible he hadn't heard her approach, her shoes could probably be heard on the next floor down. "Pretty nice," she agreed.

"Why did you follow me?"

Kitty decided to be direct. "I need a lift back to Princeton. I heard that's where you're headed"

At that he turned to face her, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. "You want a lift?" She didn't miss his disbelieving tone.

"Yes. And I thought perhaps we could talk along the way. About Andrew's bequest to the foundation. Whether we might find some way to make it work."

"Forget it," he said dismissively, turning from her and heading for the driver's door.

Kitty sagged, his tone was so decisive. She suddenly realised she was too tired to keep fighting. Ever since the lawyer had appeared in Kitty's office, she hadn't been able to sleep: trying to decide whether or not to attend the will reading and tortured by memories of her time with Andrew, both the pleasant and the unpleasant. _Occasionally very unpleasant. _And now, after enduring the reception she'd got from his family, the strange bequest, the sheer emotional exhaustion of the day, she was shattered. She wondered how she'd even manage to get herself back to the train station.

The engine turned over and a low thrumming growl filled the basement. He revved the engine a couple of times experimentally, that childish grin back on his face again as he looked up at her from behind the steering wheel.

"Aren't you getting in?" he asked.

Kitty frowned. _Hadn't he said, forget it?_

"I thought you—"

He interrupted. "There's no way I'm working at your foundation, or whatever the hell it is. But driving home in a convertible with a hot blonde chick by my side? _That_ I'm totally up for. Get in."

Kitty wasn't sure whether to feel complimented or offended. In the end she laughed, because what it really made her feel was _nostalgic_. A long time ago she'd had fun and had found a life with a man who'd said similarly inappropriate things.

She opened the door, jumped in, and threw her purse, the Tiffany bag and the manila envelope on the floor around her feet.

"How fast can we go?" she asked cheekily.

Instead of answering, he gunned the engine, spinning the tyres as they sped up the ramp of the basement. Kitty let out a little squeal of glee.

-

* * *

-

Once they were on the freeway and House had got the hang of the powerful engine, he settled back to enjoy the comfort of the leather seats. He'd stopped taking long drives a while ago because he'd found his leg couldn't take extended periods in the car. But so far so good. Perhaps it said more about his car than his leg.

He hadn't spoken to Kitty much except to share complaints about the traffic in New York and comments about the car. They had the top down and the wind rushing past and the traffic meant it was a little noisy for conversation anyway. She seemed content to sit there, her hair blowing back, watching the scenery go by.

However it had started to cloud over and – not wanting to risk his precious new leather upholstery – House decided that was as good an excuse as any to put the top down and start a conversation. He pulled over to a rest stop and pressed the button that returned the soft top over them. He watched the mechanism with quiet awe, silently praising German engineering.

They were back on the road in less than a minute.

"So, I'm guessing you're not another illegitimate child," House said by way of opening the conversation.

"No."

House wasn't deterred by the brusque answer.

"I noticed that you're not overly protective of that Tiffany bag," he said, nodding towards the blue and white bag sitting on the floor of the car. She'd carefully tucked other things under the seat to be sure they couldn't blow away when they'd picked up speed on the freeway. The Tiffany bag she'd left in a precarious spot, but House had decided if she didn't care about it, then he wouldn't either.

"I don't especially care about it."

"What is it?"

She shrugged.

"You haven't opened it?" House was a little astonished. From what he knew of the feminine mystique, for most women simply recalling that shade of blue could induce hypertension.

"I can guess what's inside."

"Seems it's the day for games," House muttered and although his eyes were on the road, he didn't miss the sharp look she gave him. "Okay, so guess, then open it, and we'll see if you're right."

"Solitaire diamond earrings," she said promptly.

"Go on," House encouraged.

With a small sigh, Kitty picked up the bag, opened it and pulled out a black case tied up with white ribbon. She undid the ribbon, opened the case, and turned it to House after barely a glance.

He nodded, she was right. "Nice," House said. He knew a little about diamonds. Not a lot, but enough to know that these stones would have to be at least two carats each, and enough to know that they wouldn't really suit her. They were too big and flashy. She'd look better with something smaller, more delicate, perhaps with a little drop to them. No, these earrings said more about the giver than the receiver. They were earrings designed to indicate ownership. Why a dead man should give a gift like that was the intriguing thing.

"Yes, they're beautiful," Kitty agreed without any emotion to her voice.

"But you don't like them."

"Not particularly," she admitted.

"And you can't sell them."

"No," She sighed. "Andrew always was a little bossy."

"And flashy."

"Did you know him well?" Kitty narrowed her eyes at him and House wondered if it was because what he'd said was off the mark or accurate.

"No, I never really met him. He was around occasionally when I was a child, but then my family moved and I didn't see him again until recently."

"You were with him before he died?" Kitty turned to him in the car seat, her eyes brimming with curiosity. "How was he? I mean, I know he was sick, but was he . . . ?" She trailed off, seemingly unsure how to phrase what she wanted to know.

House shook his head. "No, I wasn't with him. He came to my father's funeral – it must have been before the cancer recurred. My _other_ father. My mother's husband," he stumbled, trying to make the relationships clear.

"He was there and you didn't talk to him? Did you know then that he was your real dad?"

"Yes. I've known for a while."

"And you didn't talk to him?" Kitty seemed incredulous.

"Well, it was my father's _funeral_," House protested, knowing that it did seem strange, and unable to explain his lack of curiosity at the time. "It would have been rude."

"Something tells me that's never stopped you before."

"What?"

"Let's just say I hardly know you, but already I can tell that you take after your father in more ways than you imagine."

"How did you know him? I mean, I'm assuming you knew him in the biblical sense. Which, by the way, I imagine would have required a serious little-blue-pill supply."

As the words left his mouth, House suddenly realised that he really was in the middle of one of the most surreal moments of his life: driving his dead biological father's car while talking to a woman who was more than likely that man's ex-mistress. A woman he had to admit he found extremely attractive. There was something slightly disturbing and creepy about the whole thing, but House felt powerless to resist it. The game had been set in motion now, and he had no choice but to play his part. Not that he was going to agree to being Chairman of whatever ridiculous charity it was that she headed. The New Jersey Protectors of Rejected Cats or whatever the hell it was would just have to get by without him.

But the blonde next to him was one feline he wanted to know more about.

"We were friends," Kitty answered stiffly, turning back to look straight out the windshield.

"Friends," House sneered. "Right."

"_Friends_," Kitty insisted.

"Friends? Like 'play a round of golf on Sunday' friends? Or 'play a round of hide-the-sausage-while-my-wife's-away' friends?"

Kitty made a strangled noise of protest.

"I'd bet it's more the sausage-variety friends," House continued. "You don't normally shop at Tiffany's for your golf buddies. Unless you—"

"I loved him, is that what you want to know?" Kitty suddenly yelled. "He saved me, he took care of me, and I loved him. He didn't love me, but that was okay. We gave each other things we couldn't get from anywhere else. Is that what you wanted to know?" She turned away from him and stared out the window.

House couldn't see her face properly, but he could see the tense set of her jaw, the way her hands were clenched into fists, her chest rising and falling quickly. She was very angry and very upset. He was fascinated by her reaction and also by his own. He felt an urge to reach out his arm and wrap it around her, to let her cry on his shoulder, comfort her. It wasn't something he'd experienced in a very long time.

"He _saved_ you?" House asked, deliberately keeping his tone mild and his eyes on the road ahead.

The colour on Kitty's cheeks deepened and House realised that she probably hadn't meant to let that piece of information out. He filed it in the back of his mind for further examination later, but for now went back to safer topics.

"I'm also betting from the reactions I saw today that you're not exactly on great terms with his family."

"You could say that," Kitty muttered, clearly trying to pull herself together after her outburst.

"Were you with him when he died?"

"I haven't seen Andrew for five years. Our . . . _relationship_," she seemed reluctant to use the word, House noted, ". . . ended almost ten years ago."

"Really?" House was puzzled. A man didn't normally give expensive bequests to a mistress he'd stopped boinking a decade earlier. Not to mention the whole fact that there must have been a forty-year age difference between Andrew and Kitty. Sure, some people got off on that, but it was undeniably unusual. There was something more going on with the whole thing; something he was dying to get to the bottom of.

They were silent for a while until finally Kitty made a big show of looking up at the sky from the window.

"It's clearing up," she said quietly.

"Yeah."

"So, can we put the top down again?"

House was sure she was asking only in order to put a halt to easy conversation, but he wasn't sure what his next move should be anyway. So he pulled over to the next rest stop and flicked the switch to put the top down again.

"Have you tried out the stereo yet?" Kitty asked, reaching over to play with the buttons as House pulled back out onto the freeway.

"No, but it's Harman/Kardon, it's gonna rock."

Kitty leaned close to the speakers to listen while she played with the radio dial. Finally she sat back with a satisfied smile. "This is one of my favourite songs," she said, before cranking up the volume.

The Cranberries' song, _Dreams_, blasted out of the speakers, almost deafening above the rush of the wind and the traffic. "_Oh my life, it's changing every day, in every possible way…_" the Irish balladeers sang. Kitty sang with them, under her breath.

House couldn't help but smile. It _was_ a good song. The sun was shining. Hell, if he didn't know better, he'd call this feeling . . . happiness.

He started working on a scheme to explain a detour to the hospital. He couldn't wait to pull this baby into the parking lot. _Both_ of them. He just needed to make sure Wilson was watching somehow. House grinned to himself just imagining the look on Wilson's face. That'd be worth the five hundred bucks alone. A convertible _and_ a hot blonde. _Some inheritance! _


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Shortish chapter, but it made sense to break the story this way. I'll post again soon. Thanks so much for your lovely comments - don't forget to leave me love!

* * *

-

Kitty had almost managed to forget about the unpleasantness of the afternoon at the lawyers' and her eagerness to get the PRC matters sorted out had dimmed. She still had time up her sleeve. For now, the sun shone down, the wind rushed through her hair, and she'd managed to settle on one of those radio stations that played a great mix of oldies, most of which were in her CD collection at home. Adding to the peace was the fact that her driver had shut up for a while, seeming satisfied with what he'd uncovered so far.

She supposed it didn't matter what assumptions he made about the type of relationship she'd had with Andrew. _With his father_, she reminded herself, sneaking a look over at him. Yes, he definitely looked a little like Andrew. Behaved a little like him too, which opened up a whole heap of nature versus nurture arguments in her mind. She wondered why he needed the cane. His face bore the etchings of someone who lived in pain – Kitty had seen that enough in her work to know the signs. But he had a strong profile and he still held himself straight – no hunching over with the weight of living in agony. From experience, Kitty knew that probably said a lot more about his will than his injury. He was clearly strong. And it wasn't just the pleasingly bulging arms that told her that. She wondered why he didn't shave. It wasn't quite a beard, just enough stubble to make it look as if he hadn't been bothered to clean himself up for the world.

Would it prickle if she kissed him?

Suddenly he turned and gazed back at her, as if he'd felt her eyes on him, and Kitty was shocked by her own thoughts. _Where had thinking about kissing him come from?_ One side of his mouth inched up in a lopsided smile, a _knowing_ lopsided smile that Kitty felt bring the blood rushing to her cheeks. She had the strangest sensation that he could see inside her, just as Andrew had; that his gaze made transparent the carefully put together mask she wore. Of course, it was an entirely different mask now to the one she'd worn as a twenty-four-year-old when she'd first met his father.

"I don't know much about Andrew Barnes, but he had excellent taste in women," House said, raising his voice to be heard over the radio and the road noise.

"Eyes on the road!" Kitty scolded, not sure what else to say.

His eyes flicked back to the front, but Kitty still felt the heat of them on her.

"He did," House continued. "I mean, I'm sure that Rachael was a looker back in her day. My mom's a babe. And you're hot."

"What?" Kitty couldn't believe he was putting her in the same category as Rachael and his mother. It was vulgar, and obscene, and she'd bet a psychologist would have a field day with it.

"Just paint me a sign and call me Oedipus," he said cheerfully.

Kitty had no idea how to respond to that, but had to stifle the urge to giggle. It was funny. Wrong, but funny.

Instead she cleared her throat and looked out the window. Looking at him wasn't good for her composure. She wasn't sure if it was the vague resemblance to Andrew or just the man himself, but he unsettled her. Unsettled her enough that she'd blurted out details of her relationship with Andrew just like that. She supposed it didn't really matter, but still, she'd been upset enough to let something slip and he'd immediately picked it: Andrew had saved her. Let him think what he wanted, Kitty thought. She wasn't going to let that happen again.

Looking up from her reverie, Kitty found they'd turned off the freeway and were heading towards Plainsboro.

"Hey, where are we going?" she asked, realising that she hadn't actually told him where in Princeton she wanted to go.

"My work. I have to check in on a patient."

"What, now?" Kitty was annoyed, she'd been away from work for the whole day, she needed to get to her office and check her emails at least. "Can't you drop me off first? I have to get to work before the day ends too," she made a show of looking at her watch.

"It'll only take a minute."

"Yeah, right," Kitty muttered. She knew doctors and their "minutes", but she could tell from the set of his jaw that he wasn't going to be deterred. She sighed. "Which hospital?" Kitty figured while he was busy she could perhaps do a little networking, bring her usual scheduled visit forward. Then, she'd just get a cab back to the office. That way the day wouldn't be completely wasted.

He picked up his cell phone without answering her. "Wilson?" she heard him ask. There was a brief conversation which centred on the other person being in the car park for some reason. Of course, Kitty realised, he wanted to show off the car.

"Which hospital?" she repeated again, once his call was complete.

"Princeton Plainsboro," he answered without looking at her. They took a left, and Kitty recognised the road, they were only a minute or two away.

"Lisa Cuddy," Kitty said. "She's the Dean, right? She's great." And flexible with her diary too, Kitty thought. With any luck she might be able to get a meeting with her to discuss cooperative funding for the next research project. That way this detour wouldn't be a _complete_ waste of time.

He gave her a quick look. "Great? Dunno about that. She's my boss."

"You report to the Dean?" Kitty asked shrewdly. "So you must be a head of department." Kitty recalled the words of the lawyer. He'd said they'd made sure that this scheme of Andrew's would work. The Council had to have a senior doctor as Chair and, as a head of department at one of Princeton's major hospitals, this guy definitely qualified. Kitty felt like an insect in a spider's web, getting spun more deeply into someone else's trap with every passing hour.

"Yep, diagnostics," he answered, smoothly pulling the car into a disabled car space.

"Oh," Kitty said mildly, while her brain tried to place why that rang a bell. Suddenly the pieces clicked together and she turned to face him, stunned. "Oh _shit_, you're Greg_ House_."

"At your service," he said, giving her a mock bow.

Kitty felt her stomach turn over.

Before she could react further, a guy called out to them from across the car park.

"House! Oh. My. God!"

House gave her a wide grin before getting out of the car to meet the man who was rushing towards them. The two of them stood admiringly in front of the car, while the new guy asked a battery of questions.

Kitty just sat there feeling sick. She might as well kiss the trust fund goodbye right now. Greg House was the biggest pain in the ass this side of the equator. And she knew firsthand that he had no love of the PRC.

She forced herself to swallow down the sense of defeat. She'd never given up easily in her life. It was no time to start now.

-

* * *

-

House couldn't have been more pleased by Wilson's astonished look: if his eyebrows went any higher, they'd crawl off his face.

"It's got a seven-speed sports transmission and a six-liter twin-turbo engine," House explained. "It just purred along the freeway. And my leg doesn't hurt after all that driving!" he added. "Leather seats. With warmers in them for the winter."

"You still owe me five hundred bucks," Wilson said, jealousy starting to peek through.

"I know," House said, forcing himself to look mournful about that, but inside he was jumping up and down with glee. If he'd known a simple automobile could make him this happy, he'd have gone and bought one ages ago.

"And what about the blonde," Wilson asked under his breath. "She an optional extra with the car?"

"No she's . . ." House paused, unsure how to describe how Kitty fitted in to the picture. Saying she was his father's ex-mistress would be satisfyingly shocking, but for some reason he didn't want Wilson to know that.

Before House could explain further, Kitty got out of the car and walked over to them.

"Dr Wilson," she said, holding out her hand to him. "It's nice to see you again. I'm not sure if you remember me—"

"Catherine, right?" Wilson answered, shaking her hand. "We met at a fundraiser?" he asked uncertainly.

"That's right. The PRC dinner in November."

He nodded. "That's it."

"_Catherine_?" House asked, curious. He'd only heard her referred to as Kitty. He guessed Kitty could have been a pet name, or a derivation of Catherine.

Kitty ignored him. "Dr House was kind enough to give me a ride back to Princeton after we met at the will reading. The estate included a bequest to the PRC," she explained.

"Ah, that's great, you guys do important work," Wilson said.

Kitty glared at House, as if trying to drive home exactly what Wilson was saying. House didn't care, there was no way he was going to do the bidding of a dead man.

"Did Dr House tell you about the rest of his bequest?" Kitty asked.

"There's more?" Wilson said, turning to House in surprise.

"No, there's not. Just the car." House turned and began walking towards the hospital, catching Wilson's arm and pulling him with him. "I need to get inside and talk to my team. Find out what's happening with what's-her-name."

Kitty walked along with them. "Actually there is more. He was also bequeathed a house in Spring Lake and an apartment in Paris, with just one small catch."

"_Small_ catch," House muttered.

Wilson pulled his arm from House's grip and stopped to face Kitty. "Really? An apartment in _Paris_?"

"And a lake house," Kitty confirmed.

"I'm not doing it," House said with finality.

"Unfortunately Dr House is not entitled to the properties unless he takes on the position of Chair of the PRC for a year."

"What?"

"I'm not doing it," House repeated.

Wilson started laughing. "Are you sure your biological father didn't know you well?" he said through his mirth.

"Why?"

"Because this is just the sort of ironic bullshit that you would usually love."

"What?" House was getting angry. He didn't want to think about the rest of the bequest so he couldn't have second thoughts about giving up a property portfolio probably worth a million dollars. Maybe more. It was easier not to think too much about it.

"Greg House as the Chair of the Pain Research Council. It's fantastic." Wilson said, laughing again.

"Pain Research Council?" House asked. So _that's_ what the PRC is, he realised. Not prostitutes' rights. Not rejected cats. Not even painters of the Renaissance. Then he realised something else and whirled around to face his blonde driving companion. "Catherine? _Catherine_ Brecht from the Pain Research Council? The pain pest?"

"At your service," she said wryly.


	5. Chapter 5

_Wednesday - two days later _

Sitting at her desk with her hand resting on the phone, Kitty couldn't help recalling the first phone call she'd made to Greg House – the one that had resulted in him nick-naming her the "pain pest". Although it had been over a year ago, she still remembered it with astonishing clarity. She spent a great deal of her day calling people, interrupting their schedule, mostly to ask them for money, time or some other favour, and so she was used to knock backs. She was even used to people occasionally being quite rude, perhaps even insulting. But nothing had ever come close to the phone call with Dr House – then or since.

Someone had suggested that he might be the right person to head up a new committee looking into alternative therapy treatments for chronic pain: acupuncture, aromatherapy, meditation and the like. She'd been told that Dr House himself had suffered an injury that left him in chronic pain – an infarction if she remembered correctly – and the board had agreed that approaching a senior and well-respected doctor, who just happened to be a pain patient himself, to chair the committee would be a wise and appropriate move.

Kitty's past meant she was more than familiar with bad language, and she was even familiar with having it directed at her. She'd occasionally been called a whore before, and back then perhaps she'd been able to understand why. But when she was being Catherine Brecht, Executive Director of the PRC, she wasn't prepared for it, she was wearing the wrong costume. It had affected her in a way she hadn't expected.

But he was mistaken if he thought she would give up that easily. Since that first, fateful call, she'd made it a task to call him every two months to remind him about the PRC and to invite him to contribute his time or his money, or both. He'd begun referring to her as his pain pest, because she refused to give up at just leaving a message. She called him from different phones from different locations so he couldn't recognise the number. It had become almost an amusement, trying to break the great, irascible Greg House. It was never quite fun, but it was a_ challenge_ and Kitty didn't back down from a challenge.

Now, thanks to Andrew's bequest, the challenge was even greater. Since she'd left House at Princeton Plainsboro two days previously, she'd increased her call schedule quite dramatically – from every two months to every two hours. And, according to her watch it was time again. So, after taking a long swallow of her strong morning coffee, she steeled herself and picked up the phone.

"Dr House? This is Catherine Brecht," she began, trying to sound bright, trying to sound as if it was the first time she'd said those words.

"Catherine? I don't know anyone called Catherine." His voice was carefree and she knew he was playing with her. Again. He must be enjoying these calls on some level, she realised, because otherwise he simply wouldn't answer his phone.

She sighed. "It's Kitty. Kitty Brecht."

"Oh, Kitty!" He pretended to be surprised. "I haven't heard from you in _ages_. I'd say it's lovely to hear from you, but it's not."

"I just thought we could discuss—"

"No. Goodbye."

The line went dead. Faster than usual – maybe he was with a patient. Kitty sat back in her office chair, shaking her head. She recalled Einstein's definition of insanity, something along the lines of doing the same thing and expecting a different result. Well, if that was the definition, then she definitely was. Insane. Certifiable.

That was now the eighth phone call to him since the will reading. Each call had gone almost exactly the same. First, he pretended not to know her until she used the name Kitty. Then he'd rebuff whatever approach she'd come up with to get him to reconsider taking up the position with the PRC. She'd offered him a site visit, a personal meeting with the board, a chance to review the Council's operating plans, whatever – she'd wracked her brains to think of a way to capture his interest. None of it had worked.

There had to be _something_ he was interested in, she'd thought. So she'd done some research, even calling James Wilson whom she knew only vaguely. But everything she'd gathered told her nothing of importance. She'd found that Dr Greg House cared about – in roughly this order – solving puzzles, bourbon, music, monster trucks, and some daytime medical soap opera that Kitty had never heard of. He also appeared – like her – to spend a significant amount of time alone; he had no family and, according to Dr Wilson, who'd mentioned it without Kitty asking, no wife or current girlfriend. It wasn't much to go on, and it wasn't anything she could use to build a case for him to reconsider the position with the PRC.

Kitty sighed and sat back heavily in her chair. She hated giving up. It was hard-wired into her DNA to fight and keep fighting. Her mother had drilled it into her since grade school. _And look where that attitude got her,_ a little voice piped up in Kitty's head. She shook her head to get rid of the thought.

Andrew had always told Kitty she was a fighter. She smiled, remembering the way he used to tease her, calling her his little Jedi Knight and ruffling her hair proudly. Then her smile faded, as usually happened when she had warm thoughts about Andrew. Somehow her brain seemed unable to remember good times with him without immediately calling up one of the less pleasant ones.

Kitty got up from her desk, turning to look out the window as the bile rose in her throat just thinking about the night Andrew had proudly introduced her to his friends, announcing she'd won the top prize in her MBA class. And how later the carpet, expensive as it was, had burned her knees. She stifled the urge to retch and coughed shallowly instead, covering her mouth with her hand to try to hold in her revulsion. The men had always liked her being part of Andrew's parties. The men had liked _her_.

Until the past few days, she'd thought that the public version of "Kitty" Brecht had been buried a long time ago. But she had to admit that every now and then a small part of her popped through into Catherine Brecht's world; whether it was charming a potential donor, smoothing over an administrative problem or even putting on her brave, "I don't care" facade during difficult situations. That was one that Kitty had perfected and Catherine wasn't above bringing Kitty out when the situation warranted it. When she had to fight hard. And she'd spent the past six years fighting hard for the PRC, making a difference – a small difference – but a difference to people who lived in pain.

She wasn't going to let Greg House get in the way of her half-million dollar bequest. Regardless of what a prick he was to her on the phone.

Then it clicked. She let out a small laugh as she realised she had the solution.

That repulsive memory, vile as it was, had brought her the answer. _Men liked Kitty. _

Greg House was a man. A lonely man, by all accounts.

A man who already called her Kitty.

It was simple really. He didn't stand a chance.

-

* * *

-

House was packing up for the day when he saw the shadow of someone at his door from the corner of his eye. If it was Cuddy with a new patient she was going to get a very quick, unequivocal dismissal, possibly invoking threats to her job, her home and her person. If it was anyone else, he'd be even ruder.

"Dr House?"

House rolled his eyes as he recognised the voice. He _should _be able to recognise it instantly by now, he realised, having heard it on the phone so many times in the past two days. He actually been kind of enjoying their phone war and had noticed the lack of phone calls from her that afternoon after he'd hung up on her during the morning. Clearly she'd decided to give up on the telephone and give the personal approach a try.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice brooking no argument, refusing to even give her the courtesy of looking up at her. He stood up from his seat at his desk and shoved his iPod into his backpack in demonstration of his intentions.

"I'll only take a moment of your time."

Kitty's voice had a new tone to it, one he hadn't heard before. It was smooth, like warm caramel; bewitching. He looked up and remembered all over again how attractive she was; her shiny blonde hair, blue eyes, curves in all the right places. She was wearing a simple black dress with a skinny belt that emphasised her waist, and toweringly high heels that thrust her butt and her chest out in a manner that was entirely pleasing to the eye. Smart, sophisticated, and sexy as hell, was House's conclusion.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and the over-large diamond in her earlobe sparkled at him. The reminder of his father's _ownership_ of her rankled, and House wondered why she'd decided to wear the earrings, knowing that she didn't particularly like them.

"I don't have _a moment_ for you," he said, knowing it was what he was supposed to say, part of their game. "Not unless you've decided to give up on this whole PRC thing and you're here for another _ride_." He waggled his eyebrows. "In my car. Or otherwise," he added.

She smiled, clearly refusing to let him bait her. It was obvious to him now that the day of the will reading had seriously upset her. Right now she was the picture of calm, female-executive confidence, something she'd been striving for when they'd driven back from New York, but that had been a transparent pretence. Now he saw her usual mode of operation, he was a little regretful that he'd never consented to one of her regular requests to visit the PRC. Of course, until recently he hadn't known what she looked like. He wondered what might have happened if he had.

"I'm not here for a ride. Not yet, anyway." The flirtation in her voice was unmistakable.

She took a seat opposite his desk and crossed her legs neatly. As she no doubt intended, House's eyes were instantly drawn to them. His mouth fell open as he saw the dress had some kind of concealed split that gaped at the side. He had a full view of her shapely leg encased in black nylon stockings, a wide band of lace at the top of her thigh and just a hint of her bare skin above it. House actually felt the blood rush through his body and his heartbeat pick up, sending a jolt to an organ he didn't often find responding spontaneously like that these days.

With deliberate effort, House closed his mouth, swallowed hard and sat down again. He also found himself checking outside his office, wanting to know if anyone else was enjoying the view he had. But no, he realised that with the way she was sitting, the view was his and his alone. He smiled, feeling bizarrely pleased about that.

Kitty gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. "I was thinking that with all the drama around Andrew's will reading, we didn't get things off to the right start. You're Andrew's son; Andrew and I were close. I wondered if maybe we should put aside all of that for a moment and make an effort to get to know one another?"

"Really?" House wanted to sound blasé, but his voice came out with a bit of a squeak. He actually wasn't all that familiar with having women come on to him. At least, he figured that was what she was doing. Or maybe she wasn't and he was misreading it – it wouldn't be the first time that had happened. He cleared his throat and deliberately lowered his voice. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a sarcastic, yet suggestive quirk.

She shrugged. "What can it hurt? I'm finished for the day; you're finished for the day. How about we go get a drink? Maybe something to eat? If it doesn't work out then neither of us have lost anything except an evening of our time."

House had the vague sense that he was being played, but found himself not particularly minding. He wasn't going to work for the PRC no matter what, so having a drink with an extremely attractive blonde couldn't really hurt, could it? Just having her sit down like that had given him enough masturbation fantasies to last him for a month; House could only imagine what watching her eat a meal might do to him.

"You buying?" he asked.

"Sure."

"I'm driving," he said, standing up again and picking up his backpack and cane.

"Great, I got a cab here. I was hoping I'd get another chance to ride in that gorgeous car."

House laughed, reached under his desk and pulled out a spare motorbike helmet. He tossed it to her and she just barely caught it, her face a picture of surprise.

"Guess again."

-

* * *

-

As she picked up a piece of broccoli in her chopsticks, Kitty thought that she really couldn't have hoped for the evening to turn out better. At first she hadn't been at all sure about things would go. It had been a struggle to get on the motorbike without displaying her lingerie to half the world, but he'd been surprisingly sensitive after he'd found out she'd never ridden one before. He'd run through a quick list of do's and don'ts and been careful not to accelerate too hard to start with. Once he could tell she was comfortable he tightened her grip around his waist and let out the throttle. Kitty felt her stomach lurch but then the excitement of the ride gripped her and she laughed with exhilaration. She was still laughing when he'd pulled up at the bar, and she could tell that he was unashamedly thrilled that she'd taken such delight in it.

They'd had a quick drink at the bar. Kitty had done most of the talking, telling him about her day, about a funny interaction she'd had with a research scientist who was studying various forms of pain relief for fibromyalgia, talking to fill up space while he sat there. Kitty had the unnerving feeling of being opposite a human MRI machine; it was as if he was trying to see inside her. So she talked and he pretended to listen.

But it was his idea to have dinner. He took her to a Chinese restaurant, said it was his favourite, but then belied that by being obviously unfamiliar with the layout. She called him on it and when he laughed and admitted he'd only ever had take-out from there, Kitty felt like he finally began to relax and enjoy himself.

"So, favourite album of all time," he said.

They'd been playing the usual twenty questions of a first date since the food had arrived. Kitty found _herself_ starting to relax and enjoy the evening. She inwardly warned herself not to lose sight of her purpose, not to get carried away with being the subject of a man's interest. Not that that was particularly unusual, but what _was_ unusual was the fact that Kitty found herself welcoming it. Returning it even. Sincerely. She found herself watching as he picked up a shrimp and sucked it into his mouth, licking his fingers clean of the sauce. She shook her head and looked away, studying the plate of chicken and cashews intently. Now was _not_ the time for her long-dormant sex drive to revive itself.

"Um, too hard," she said, finally answering his question. "Can't choose just one." She picked at her food.

"No, you have to choose one so I can tell you mine."

Unable to help it, she looked back at him and smiled. "You just have a really cool one, don't you, and you want to show off?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, tell me."

"Not until you tell me first."

"Mine's a cliché," she warned.

"So is almost everyone's."

"But not yours."

He shook his head. "Not mine."

"Okay. It's not exactly an album, as such, but I love Bach. Particularly the Toccata and Fugue. If I could only take one piece of music to a desert island, that would be it." Kitty felt her cheeks heat up with a blush. It was such a corny choice, she rarely ever told anyone about her love of that particular piece – it was too personal. She wondered why she was discussing it openly now.

But rather than scathing, House looked impressed. "Nice cliché," he said.

Embarrassed, Kitty turned the conversation back to him. "So go on, amaze me with your choice."

"Edward Benson, _A Song for Silver_," he said proudly. "The best jazz guitarist that no one's ever heard of."

"Oh my God, Edward Benson? Really?" Kitty asked eagerly.

"You've heard of him?" He was as excited as a little boy and Kitty almost felt bad for teasing him.

She laughed. "Nope."

His face fell before he laughed, and Kitty was reminded of what it was she was here to achieve. Teasing him wasn't going to get it. It was just that she somehow kept letting down her guard. Thinking that this was a _real_ date. She had to keep focussed.

"Tell me another favourite," she encouraged.

"Favourite what?" he asked, annoyingly eating yet another shrimp with his fingers.

"Anything."

"Sexual position?"

Inwardly she rolled her eyes at how juvenile it was, but outwardly she smiled daringly and lifted her chin in challenge. "Go on then."

"You first."

"A lady doesn't talk about things like that."

"Ah," he said knowingly. Maddeningly.

"What?"

"That means it's woman on top."

"What?"

"Well, if it was missionary, you'd say that. Even a _lady_ would say that. But anything more adventurous, then you get embarrassed and avoid the question. The next most common position after missionary is woman on top."

"What, that's a known fact is it?" Kitty was cross. Mostly because he was right. Not that she was going to admit it. Well, it used to be. Who knew? It had been so long since she'd had sex, she had no idea what position might be good anymore.

"Yep, it is. Have you tried the shrimp?" He lifted his chopsticks and pushed a shiny shrimp at Kitty's face. Too surprised to do anything else, she opened her mouth and let him feed it to her. As if it was a perfectly natural thing for him to do, he returned his chopsticks to the plate and fed himself a piece of Chinese cabbage.

"I thought you were going to say _The Cranberries_," he said through his mouthful.

"What?" Kitty was dangerously unsettled. Feelings that hadn't been part of her life for over a decade were swimming warmly through her pelvis. She swallowed her mouthful of shrimp and picked up her wine glass, taking a long sip, hoping the alcohol might settle her nerves or, at least, numb her a little to his charms.

"Favourite album," he explained. "You knew all the words to that _Cranberries_ song in the car the other day."

"Oh, right," Kitty said faintly. "Well, I like that too."

"Favourite book?" House asked, continuing to talk and eat as if totally at ease. Which he probably was, Kitty thought darkly.

"Favourite book? Oh, that's a little easier" Kitty felt she was back on safer ground. "I love the book _Perfume_ by Patrick Suskind; I can't tell you how many times I've read it."

"Why's it so good?"

"It's just written so beautifully, such lush descriptions. It has this amazing way of describing scents and scenes. You feel like you're immersed in that world when you read it."

"What's it about?"

"It's about a sociopath who becomes a perfumer in Paris in the eighteenth century. He creates the perfect perfume by killing these young women he becomes obsessed with and . . . uh . . . distils their skin for their scent. Eventually his perfume causes . . . ah . . . well . . . a massive orgy." Kitty's voice began to falter as she spoke. Suddenly they were talking about sex again and this time it was her fault.

House grinned. "Sounds like my kind of book."

"What's your favourite book?" Kitty asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

"Lesbian Prison Stories," House said smugly.

This time Kitty let the eye roll out. "Of course it is."

House turned his attention back to the food, pushing an eggroll around the plate with his chopsticks. "Actually, it's Catch 22 by Joseph Heller," he said quietly.

"Why?"

"The fight scenes," he joked. Kitty thought there was probably more to it. She was learning that he mocked anything important, covered his emotions with jokes and deflections. And yet somewhere in there was a man who suffered – she could see the pain in his eyes. And it wasn't just physical pain. Kitty was familiar enough with both types to know what to look for.

But that wasn't what she was here for, she reminded herself. Tonight's goal was all about getting him hooked. She had no intentions of doing anything more than raising his hopes; giving him a taste of what might be his if he took the time to get more involved with her – and, by default, with the PRC. Of course, nothing would actually eventuate. Kitty didn't do that anymore. With anyone. But she _could_ kiss him, she thought. That might be okay.

She reached over, just far enough for the side of her breast to brush "accidentally" against his arm, and grabbed a piece of beef from the sizzle plate. She leaned back and popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes and making a show of enjoying her mouthful, feeling his eyes on her.

"That's yummy," she said, opening her eyes and smiling at him.

He looked a little stunned. _Good._

"You didn't tell me your favourite," she said, reaching over to pick up another piece of beef."

"Favourite what?" This time it was his turn to be confused.

"Sexual position."

He laughed and repositioned the plate of beef between them. "You really want to know?"

"Why else would I be asking?" She _didn't_ want to know. She was almost sure.

"Reverse cowgirl," he answered, picking up a piece of beef and putting it in his mouth, closing his eyes and copying her blatant show of ecstasy. Mocking her. "And," he continued, "from the Karma Sutra I like the Tigress."

"But they're the same thing!" Too late Kitty realised what she'd said.

House shook his head in rebuke. "And to think, I thought you were a lady."

Kitty had no idea what to say next. She settled for picking up her glass. "Can you pour me some more wine, please?"

"Delighted." His eyes sparkled with mischief.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi all, thanks for your lovely reviews. This story has gone and taken a walk on the 'M-rated' side of life, so I will be changing the rating from this chapter onwards. Sorry if you put this story on alert and this is not your thing. On the other hand, if this is your thing, then enjoy and don't forget to leave me love!

-

* * *

-

It was barely a conscious decision, but House felt almost powerless to resist. He didn't clearly remember how he'd managed to convince her to come inside with him. She stood there, in his doorway, her mouth curved in a slight smile, and before he knew it his lips had crashed on to hers and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into him. He was vaguely aware of his cane clattering to the floor and of spinning her around so she stood inside the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. The kiss was passionate, yet tentative, both of them seeming on uncertain ground. Funny, it wasn't what he'd expected from her. Not that he felt himself so irresistible that she would simply abandon all reason in his arms – House knew that with a damaged leg and a rapier tongue he wasn't every woman's idea of the sexiest guy alive – but she'd been so flirty over dinner, so suggestive, it was odd that now she was holding back. Still, he knew what it was to be all talk, given that he himself was prone to that, especially when it came to sex.

But his body was reacting. She was undeniably hot. It had been a long drought for him, and he hoped he could hold it together long enough to show her a good time. He pulled her tighter, his growing erection pressed into her belly, and under his mouth her lips parted slightly with a little moan. Taking it as invitation, he deepened the kiss, rubbing his tongue against hers, and she moaned again. Her head tilted back, taking him, inviting him deeper, her hands pressed into his back, and House was aware of her breasts pressing against him.

Finally, desperate to draw breath, he broke away from her mouth and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen, and he felt her swaying slightly, as if she might fall over if not for holding on to him. He saw her eyelids flutter, but before she could open them he dipped his head to her neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin under her ear, tasting her, kissing her, nuzzling his chin into her throat.

"Greg, we shouldn't—"

He heard his name, barely a whisper, and ignored the rest. It shot a pulse of heat straight to his groin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this aroused this quickly. It was age, he guessed, and medication, he was sure, that generally dulled his sexual senses. But right now he felt like a young man: almost painfully hard, and desperate to get his hands on her bare skin.

He reached down to the hem of her dress, ruching the fabric as his palms moved up her thighs, over the fine nylon of her stockings, the lace at the top, the creamy skin above that. She shivered and one of her hands ran up the back of his neck and buried itself in his hair.

House worked up her neck to her ear, nibbling on her earlobe. He took it into his mouth for a brief suck, aware of the solid, heavy weight of the diamond against his tongue, refusing to let himself think about what it meant. Now was not the time to start wondering if he was a better kisser than his father.

"What do you like?" he asked, his lips moving against her ear with the words.

Only someone as practiced at reading human reactions as House was would have noticed her response. She stilled, for a brief second. Her breath caught and her hands gripped tighter, but only her fingertips pressed harder, not her whole hand.

For House it was a telling moment. Not that he knew what it meant – not yet. It could be something simple: perhaps she thought he was asking for dirty talk and she didn't like that. Or perhaps her tastes ranged to the kinky and she wasn't ready to share that yet. He pulled away from her neck and looked at her. She didn't meet his eyes. No, it was definitely more than anything like that.

"I need to sit down," he said and pulled her over to the sofa.

He sat down heavily, as he always did, and she kicked off her shoes and then straddled him, hitching up her dress to reveal those beautiful legs. Her "we shouldn't" had clearly gone out the window. When she leaned in to kiss him, his hands went straight to their previous position, stroking the soft skin revealed at the top of her lacy stockings. His hands went higher, moving under her dress to cup her lace-clad bottom, tilting her hips so the apex of her thighs rubbed against the zipper of his jeans.

"Yes." Her breath caught in a desperate plea, her hands scrabbled against his chest and he felt her pick up his rhythm, pushing herself against his hardness.

He swore under his breath, the pressure was painfully wonderful, and he was again reminded of how long it had been since he'd felt like this. He knew he couldn't continue it for much longer or he'd come in his jeans like a desperate teenager – the very idea was both thrilling and embarrassing. It was time to slow things down. For him, anyway.

House took his hands away from their pleasant job caressing her butt cheeks and gripped her arms. She might be tall, but he was far stronger than her – in upper body strength anyway – and it didn't take much to pull her from his lap and throw her on to the sofa next to him. She gave him a puzzled frown, but when he picked up her leg and put it behind him, she smiled. Now she was laying on the sofa, resting back against the arm, and he sat between her legs. He twisted to face her, and ran his hands up the outside of her thighs, over her hips and the crushed mess of her dress, over her waist and up to her breasts. He was frustrated by the fact that tailored, high-necked dress did not allow any kind of access to her bra or the treasures within it, but then he figured perhaps that was a good thing right now. He satisfied himself with massaging her through the material. That was pretty good anyway.

Kitty threw her head back and sighed. She covered one of his hands with her own, briefly helping him squeeze her, before running her fingers back up his arm as far as she could reach, caressing the cords of muscle there.

House leaned back and pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. He slowly trailed tiny kisses and little nips along the inside of her thigh, tasting her creamy skin, wondering if this would actually achieve the slow down he was looking for. He could smell her arousal, could see a spot of moisture on her panties, and he had to close his eyes before it was the undoing of him.

He brought his hands away from her breasts, needing them to support himself, and he kept going with his kisses, pressing closer and closer to her heat. _You will do this_, he told himself, _and you will forget about the boner in your pants for just a few minutes. _

As it happened, he _did_ forget about his erection for a moment. Because as soon as he pressed his mouth to her lace-covered mound, he heard a muttered "no" and she sat up with a gasp, pushing herself away. In doing so, her foot kicked into the sofa for purchase, but slipped against the leather and ended up buried in his gut.

"Ooof." House felt the connection take his breath away. He wasn't really hurt, just taken by surprise, and as soon as he sat up and wrapped his arms around his stomach, he realised he was okay.

"I . . . I . . . don't like that." Her voice sounded small, almost childlike.

"Clearly," he said, rubbing where her foot had connected.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, seeming to just realise what she'd done. She leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live," he said gruffly. "Next time, a 'thank you for your kind offer of cunnilingus but not tonight' would suffice."

She reddened. "I'm really sorry."

He frowned at her. "You don't like it?" House figured everyone had their personal predilections, but the violence of her reaction was unusual.

"I just—" She broke off and looked away from him, surveying his apartment instead. When her eyes returned to his, House wasn't sure what to make of her expression. "I just . . . _I_ don't do that. So you shouldn't have to. I won't . . . _reciprocate_."

"What, you don't do blow jobs?"

Again, her reaction was barely perceptible, but House picked it up. She flinched at the words.

"No," she answered quietly. "I don't."

It wasn't that big a deal. On the couple of occasions he'd hired hookers it was only ever for blow jobs. He wanted to have sex with Kitty. The kick to his gut had distracted him for a while, but perhaps that hadn't been a bad thing. Pleasingly, he was still hard and still keen.

House shrugged. "Okay."

A change seemed to come over Kitty. Her face lost its vulnerability and she smiled at him, that sexy smile that had been driving him nuts over dinner. At some level, House recognised that she was putting on a mask, but then she stood up and reached behind her, pulling on the zipper of her dress, and rational thought fled. With a shrug of her shoulders it fell to the floor revealing a curvaceous body clad in a black lace bra, matching panties and those stockings that sent an extra pump of blood to his cock.

Bringing his eyes up to her chest, House could see the faint white line of an old surgical scar tracing down between her breasts, highlighting her sternum. But before he had a chance to ask her about it she straddled him on the sofa again and pushed him back against the arm, leaning in for another searing kiss. He could feel her fingers begin to work on the buttons of his shirt; the slight scrape of her fingernails against his chest was maddening. He was glad he wasn't wearing a t-shirt as well, because as soon as the buttons were undone she pushed the shirt open and bent her head to kiss his chest, licking and sucking his nipples. It was arousing both because of what she was doing and because he couldn't wait to do the same thing to her.

"Fuck," House whispered, and wound one hand through her hair. He pushed the other inside the cup of her bra and pinched an already firm nipple between his fingers, enjoying the way her full breast filled his hand, her sigh in response. Kitty stretched herself over his body and had his good thigh between hers, rubbing against him. Her movements made her stomach brush over the increasingly demanding bulge in his jeans and her fingers stroked lower on his chest, down to his stomach, circled his navel. House was almost panting in anticipation of her reaching his jeans and finally freeing him.

That was when the random thought that had been pinging around in his brain for the past few minutes seemed to reach a synapse that actually took in its meaning.

_He only ever hired hookers for blow jobs_.

With the lightening speed his brain usually used to make connections for diagnosing, two thoughts suddenly crashed over him.

The first was _sex for money_ – that was what she was doing. Now he could see it: she had come to his office with the express purpose of seducing him, of roping him into the stupid PRC job and getting that trust fund by appealing to his penis instead of his brain. And it had nearly worked. Like any stupid guy, House had let himself be led around by his dick. God knew what he might have agreed to in post-orgasmic glow with her by his side.

The second thought was less concrete, more complex, and yet just as sharp. It involved piecing together lots of little facts and information he had gathered, just like he did with diagnosing a difficult patient. But the pieces fell together to form one indelible conclusion.

_Kitty had been a hooker._ Maybe she still was. His father had met her – had _hired_ her, probably – and she'd become his mistress, his escort. She'd said that he'd _saved her_, House remembered that clearly: perhaps his father's beneficence had enabled her to leave that life behind.

House pushed Kitty off him and scrambled to sit up. She looked at him, her eyes lidded with desire, her mouth swollen, and House was nearly – so very nearly – swayed enough to leave the conversation until after he'd buried himself inside her and relieved the aching pressure of his balls. But curiosity trumped almost everything else in House's life, and right now, that included orgasms.

"You were a hooker," he accused, triumphant that his powers of deduction had yet again succeeded.

House was astonished by the play of emotions across her face. She was confused, then angry, then embarrassed. And then finally – excruciatingly – crushed. She seemed to whither in front of his eyes. House saw the tears that welled in her eyes before she blinked them away.

Without a word she stood up and gathered her dress, turning away from him to slip it over her head and do up the zip.

House was confused. "Wait a minute. I don't care about that." He paused. "Well, I care about the fact that you were about to fuck me to get half a million dollars for your stupid foundation," he corrected. Then he gave a short, bitter laugh. "Actually, I should probably be proud of the fact that I'm a half-million-dollar lay."

She ran her hands through her hair, neatening the disarray from their make-out session. She searched the floor and found her shoes, quickly twisting her feet into them.

"Wait," House said, irritated. He hadn't expected this instant reaction. Yet again, he'd spoken because he was overcome by the need to express his own thoughts, with no consideration to how the other person might react or feel.

"You don't have to worry," she said, looking at the floor. "I'll never call you again. I'll drop the idea of you being Chairman of the PRC and I'll tell the board that you have declined." Then her eyes met his and they blazed with anger and hurt. "In return I ask that you refrain from sharing your particular insight with anyone. Good night."

House's mouth worked with unsaid words as he watched her pick up her purse and let herself out. The door closed behind her with a dignified click.

"Aw, shit," House muttered. Now he wasn't going to get laid. And, even worse, now he was totally fascinated by Kitty Brecht.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thursday _

Kitty lay in bed, watching the red numbers of the clock on her nightstand. She'd watched it tick over every hour through the night and now the alarm would be going off shortly. Her stomach churned in mortification at facing the world and, for the first time she could remember, she thought about calling in sick.

Her embarrassment was almost paralysing. She'd gone out deliberately to seduce him, which was bad enough in itself, really. Andrew would _not_ be proud. _What had she been thinking? _Then, after she'd set herself ground rules – kissing only – she'd ended up almost naked. She knew that if he hadn't said what he had, she would have done it; she would have had hot, sweaty sex with him and she would have loved every minute of it.

Was she really base enough that she couldn't control her desires? Let herself get carried away with feelings she thought long since extinguished? She remembered the time her mother had called her a slut. Kitty understood then – and in even more detail now – how being in pain could cause even the gentlest person to lash out. Kitty had met Andrew by then, and her mother was getting the best care money could buy, but in those excruciating final weeks, there were moments when Kitty didn't even recognise the woman who'd brought her up, loved her, protected her, been her only family. After she'd said it, her mother had cried and apologised, but the comment had stung, and Kitty knew it was because somewhere deep inside, she felt her mother was right. So many women exchanged their dignity for drugs, only in Kitty's case it was for morphine and bisphosphonates and cyclophosphamide.

She turned onto her back and sighed up at the ceiling, House's face swimming before her eyes yet again. She couldn't believe she'd let it happen – not after all her hard work, everything she'd strived for, how carefully she'd left her past behind her. Just one night of letting her guard down and it had all come crashing in around her. She knew by reputation that Greg House – like his father – was more than comfortable with using personal information, secrets, to his own advantage. Even if he didn't publicly denounce her to the board that very morning, which Kitty half expected he might do, from now on she knew she'd be living in fear of being defamed – a declaration she'd have trouble refuting . . .

. . . because she wasn't necessarily sure it was a lie.

Andrew had saved her from that life in one way, only to submerse her into it in another. The sword of Damocles hung over her head, and it was all of her own making.

Through the night, Kitty's plans had alternated between running away – leaving Princeton and starting again somewhere fresh – or fighting him, of going back to see him to protest her innocence. Except Kitty wasn't sure how convincing she could be. Leaving the PRC would be a wrench – so many years of hard work, so much of herself invested in it. Could she really walk away?

The alarm went off and Kitty reached over to silence it. On automatic pilot, she rose, showered, dressed, thought about breakfast but then decided she couldn't manage it. Before she knew it, she was in her office, looking at her insanely packed diary and faced with her first morning appointment with the current chair of the PRC. The meeting was supposed to be about next week's annual fundraiser – but given the events of the week, Andrew's bequest would be the main topic of conversation. _Of course_, Kitty thought with more than a touch of self-pity. _Of course that's what the universe would line up for me: a meeting where the entire subject of discussion will be Greg House. _

Before she had a moment to think anything further, the chairman was at her door. "Catherine!"

Kitty rose to walk around her desk and greet him with a kiss.

"Steve, nice to see you."

Dr Steve Grosvenor was in his fifties. He was balding, had a grey and white beard and bright eyes, and bore more than a passing resemblance to Trapper John MD – the star of an eighties medical drama that had been one of Kitty's favourite shows as a kid, and responsible for her love of medicine, she was sure. Steve was not only the Chairman, he was her favourite board member – supportive, friendly, committed and passionate about the cause. He'd been involved with the PRC almost as long as she had, and as the head of surgery at Princeton General, held a lot of clout in Princeton's medical circles.

Steve gave her a fatherly hug and then sat down at the small conference table in Kitty's office.

"So," he said, eyebrows raised, "half a million dollars if I give up my job, huh? Seems like an offer too good to refuse."

Kitty gave him a rueful smile and then sighed before sitting down next to him. When Kitty had outlined the terms of Andrew's bequest a couple of days ago it had been with breathless excitement. Today she just felt overwhelmingly tired. "I'm sorry Steve; it's looking pretty doubtful right now. I think you get to keep your job for a while yet."

"Really? You know I don't actually mind about that. I've talked about it with a few board members – they're happy for me to consider it a sabbatical – I just step down and then take up the reigns again at the end of the twelve months."

"I know." Kitty knew that of all the members of the board, Steve was one of the few who could handle such a knock to his ego. He was sure enough of himself to see the bigger picture, to see that stepping down in favour of a total unknown in order to secure a significant slice of the PRC's funding future was a price worth paying.

"So Greg House is the pretender to the throne, hey? That's a turn up for the books."

"Well . . ." Despite herself, Steve's words gave Kitty an irrational urge to jump to House's defence. None of this had been _his_ idea, after all. Bizarrely enough, Kitty felt that House would probably be an asset to the PRC – one of the reasons she had been trying to get his support for a long time. He was smart, no doubt about it – widely recognised as one of the cleverest medical minds in the state, if not the country. He understood pain, from both a medical and personal point of view. He was a senior doctor, a head of department at one of Princeton's top medical facilities.

Once again, Kitty felt the sense of having been woven into a tightly and expertly woven web.

"Here-re-r-e, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty . . ."

Kitty's door was closed, but the voice coming from reception was clearly audible. It changed from its coaxing call and began to sing a song. Suddenly her door opened with a crash.

Two voices rushed over each other.

"I'm sorry Catherine but he insisted—"

"_Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, wanna touch it_ . . . there she is!"

Kitty held up her hands and both people stopped. Penny, the receptionist, looked both scared and angry. House looked smug, pleased that he had already caused a scene. Her stomach dropped. She had no doubt he intended to cause an even bigger scene shortly. And with Steve right there. At least it will be quick, a resigned part of her sighed. She had no choice but to play her part. In truth she was beginning to get sick of being other people's plaything – first Andrew's game and now Greg House's. Giving up would perhaps bring some relief.

"Thank you Penny. Dr House, would you care to wait for me in reception? As you can see, I'm busy right now. I'm sure Penny can organise you a coffee while you wait." Kitty figured it was worth a try.

"Certainly Catherine." The receptionist tried her best to hustle House out of the office. Instead he stepped forward, swapped his cane to his left hand and offered a handshake to Steve.

"You're Grosvenor, aren't you? I hear you're marginally less stupid than most of the others at Princeton General."

"Dr House," Steve said, rising to accept the handshake. "From you, I understand that is somewhat of a compliment."

The receptionist gave Kitty a look that communicated she was thinking of calling security. Kitty gave her a weak smile.

"Thanks Penny. Perhaps you could bring coffee for everyone? It appears Dr House is joining our meeting."

House sat down and made a show of making himself comfortable at the table. Dr Grosvenor looked at him, bemused, and Kitty shook her head, at a loss. This was clearly all a game to him. And she had no idea what his next move would be. She felt her chest tighten with anxiety.

"So, what is it that you folks at the PRC do?" House asked, leaning back and interlacing his fingers behind his head.

"I was under the impression that you weren't particularly fond of the PRC's work, Dr House," Dr Grosvenor said.

"Yeah, well if I'm gonna _think_ about becoming the Chairman, I probably need to know something about it."

-

* * *

-

House was pleased with how the morning had gone so far. He had no idea that Steve Grosvenor would be there and couldn't have wished for a better audience. He made his announcement and watched as Dr Grosvenor's eyes widened and the blood drained from Kitty's face. It was clearly the last thing she had expected him to say. _What, had she really thought he'd walk in there and casually drop the bomb that their executive director used to be on the game?_ He shrugged internally as he watched her turn white: clearly she had.

"You know, I was thinking about what you said to me, _Catherine_," House said, deliberately emphasising her name, "and I figured there's no harm in finding out a little about—aw, _shit_."

House jumped up from his seat and pulled Kitty's chair away from the table. She raised a shaking hand to her forehead, and protested weakly. "I'm okay." Her voice was barely audible.

"Catherine, are you all right?" Grosvenor asked.

"No, she's not," House answered sharply. "Put your head between your knees," he ordered Kitty, pushing her head down. "Breathe."

Kitty's ragged breathing filled the room. House left his hand on her back, keeping her head down to stop her fainting, feeling the rise and fall of her chest.

"Do you need a Nitrostat, or are you just light-headed?" Dr Grosvenor asked, leaning forward to touch her arm in concern.

Kitty shook her head.

"She has angina?" House asked, astonished, and remembered the scar he'd seen on her chest. At some point in her life, she'd obviously had open-heart surgery.

"Catherine was born with an ALCAPA defect and the surgery to fix it damaged her coronary artery, leaving her with chronic angina pectoris." He gave her a fond, fatherly look. "Occasionally we need to remind her that no matter how good the cause, stressing over work isn't worth a heart attack."

"I'm okay," she protested after a while. "You can let me up."

"Slowly," Dr Grosvenor warned.

Kitty nodded. House took his hand from her back and she slowly sat up.

"I'm sorry; it must be low blood sugar. I didn't have breakfast and," she looked determinedly away from House, "I didn't sleep very well last night."

Penny walked in at that moment with a tray of coffee and cookies. She clearly picked up a strange vibe in the room. "Is everything okay? Catherine?"

House reached over and grabbed a cookie from the plate, shoving it in Kitty's face. "Eat this." He was puzzled. On the one hand he thought it was somewhat pathetic that his announcement had caused her to nearly faint. On the other, it added to his intrigue. What must be going on in her head that could cause such a dramatic reaction?

"I'm fine, Penny. Just a little light-headed." The colour was returning to her cheeks and she nibbled on the cookie.

House frowned at her until he was sure she was recovered. He took his seat opposite again, picking up the coffee the receptionist had poured for him.

"So, as I said. What is it the monkeys in the back room here get up to?"

"Catherine's usually the best person to give the spiel, but given the circumstances, perhaps I'll do the honours this morning?" Dr Grosvenor raised a questioning eyebrow to Kitty and she smiled at him gratefully. House got the sense that the two were good friends. _Maybe more? _

"The PRC has two key roles," Grosvenor said, his voice taking on a formal, lecturing tone. "The first is raising money to fund research into understanding and treating chronic pain caused by disease or injury. The second is to act as a media spokesbody on behalf of those people in the community who suffer from chronic pain."

"Oh, I bet your phone's running hot with calls from the media. What with the world being so interested in chronic pain and all those concerts Bono's organising." House's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Yes, Dr House, you're exactly right. One of the problems we have is in raising awareness of pain as a serious health issue in the community – one that impacts on everything from an individual's quality of life to the nation's economy."

"The economy?"

"Chronic pain often prevents people from working, or affects their work attendance. It can also be a drain on medical resources, as people seek answers for unexplained pain from multiple medical specialists and other paramedical therapists."

"So basically you look after the whingers with fibromyalgia and CRPS and all that crap."

Dr Grosvenor frowned and flicked a look over to Kitty. She gave a small shrug and he turned back to House.

"Those are both serious conditions that aren't yet fully understood. So yes, some of our work funds research to better understand the pain process in those syndromes. But we also look at treatments for pain caused by disease – like cancer – and by injury – like car accidents – or even incidents like your own infarction," Dr Grosvenor added shrewdly.

"Acupuncture and meditation," House said bitterly. He still remembered the first time Kitty had approached him. Some committee about alternative therapies. She'd had the misfortune to get him on a day when his leg was really playing up and Wilson was giving him crap about his Vicodin intake. Acupuncture? He could have told her where she could stick acupuncture – and he had.

Dr Grosvenor frowned. "We do have a couple of research projects around alternative therapies, because, although they're not for everyone, there is some compelling evidence showing that alternative therapies such as meditation can be particularly efficacious in types of pain that are difficult to treat with drugs, such as bone cancer."

House rolled his eyes. _Efficacious._ No wonder they never got any media coverage. This guy was as boring as watching Wilson label files.

"But most of our funding is in the more traditional fields of pharmaceuticals, physical therapy, surgery, etcetera. We're only state-based, and not particularly large, but New Jersey has a high concentration of academic and research institutions, so we are well-placed to make a significant contribution to the field."

"If you got the money would you buy better cookies?" House asked after spitting out a bite of stale, crumbly, chocolate chip.

Dr Grosvenor ignored the comment. "An extra half-million dollars each year would fund one large or several small research studies. We could even offer a scholarship within a medical research faculty."

The two men stared at each other for a moment.

Dr Grosvenor took a sip of his coffee and then gave House a measured look. "To be honest, Dr House, I'm not sure you're the man for the job. Even if it does mean giving up the additional funding."

"Well, at least we agree on something."

Kitty shuffled in her chair and leaned forward, joining in the conversation for the first time. "I might have an idea." She turned to Dr Grosvenor. "Steve, this is really for you to think about, because the workload will end up on you. But why can't we have Dr House take up the position _without taking up the position_?"

Both men frowned.

"There's nothing in the bequest conditions to say that Dr House has to be a _good_ Chairman. Or even an _active_ one. He just has to have the title. So let's make him Chairman for twelve months. He'll have to come to the occasional fundraiser and board meeting to keep up the pretence for the lawyers, who've no doubt been charged with keeping check on that kind of thing, but he doesn't have to actually get involved in the day-to-day running of the council. You would, in effect, still be the Chair, only without the title. It means you get the work, but not the glory."

Dr Grosvenor shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Catherine, you know I'm passionate about the PRC, but it is a lot of work, and it is about profile—"

"I'm sure we could discreetly make it known how selflessly you gave up your position," she said, giving him an encouraging smile. House was impressed, he could see the other doctor starting to soften; she was good at her job. "And when the twelve months is up, I'm sure we can have the board pass a motion that you be returned to as Chairman for another year. I also love your idea of using the funding for a scholarship. We could call it the _Grosvenor Scholarship_."

She looked at House entreatingly. House shrugged, but was secretly impressed with the way she'd honed in on the other doctor's apparent weakness: a not inconsiderable ego.

"Wonderful." She turned to Dr Grosvenor. "Steve?"

Somewhat reluctantly, the doctor nodded. "Okay. I like the idea of the scholarship." He gave Kitty a smile. "Catherine, you can be very convincing when you want to, can't you?"

Kitty gave a little laugh, looking satisfied, but House picked up the brittle note to it.

"That's settled then," she said. She turned to House. "Congratulations Dr House. You're now the Chairman of the PRC."

"Wait, _what_?" House felt a little stunned, he'd been following the conversation, but he'd been concentrating on how she was manipulating Dr Grosvenor and had forgotten that he was a big part of all this. "I'm not . . . I don't . . ."

"Don't worry, you won't be required to do much officially."

Dr Grosvenor got to his feet. "That's right, but don't forget about the ball next week, Catherine. We should probably make a public announcement before then and have Dr House introduced formally there."

Kitty's face fell momentarily, but she covered it quickly. "Yes, yes, you're right. Dr House, I'll be in touch later today to have you approve a media release announcing your appointment. And you will need to come to our annual fundraising ball on Friday next week."

House shook his head definitively. "I don't do gatherings of more than four people unless it's a bachelor party." No way was he attending some stupid fundraiser. He'd made a point of avoiding them throughout his career. The only way Cuddy had ever got him to attend one was by making it casino-themed, and even then he'd skipped out to treat a patient.

"Oh, you'll enjoy it Dr House, I promise," Kitty said. "It's New Orleans Mardi Gras theme, and we've hired some wonderful jazz musicians. I understand you're quite fond of jazz."

House snorted and then lifted an eyebrow flirtatiously. "Mardi Gras? If I throw you beads will you lift up your shirt and show me your—"

"Dr House, that's enough," Dr Grosvenor growled, and looked about to take him on, but Kitty stood up and put a hand on his arm.

"Thanks so much Steve, you really are a lifesaver. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be getting this bequest. Let's keep the details of our arrangement between the three of us, but I promise you I'll find a way to make sure your generosity is noted."

He nodded. "Thank you Catherine. But I hope, for all our sakes, you know what you're getting us into." He stared pointedly at House. "I can't help wondering if all this will be worth five hundred thousand dollars."

She showed Dr Grosvenor to the door and House sat back in his chair, not sure whether to feel annoyed about having been manipulated into taking on the position he'd vowed not to, or pleased that he now had a whole year to work out what made this little Kitty-cat tick.

She closed the door behind the other doctor and turned to House, folding her arms in front of her. She glared at him, her expression a mixture of disgust, anger and, House was surprised to note, fear. "And you can get out too."

House tutted condescendingly. "Kitty, Kitty, Kitty. You need to be nicer to me. If I'm not mistaken, I'm now your boss."

She bristled even more, straightening her spine and narrowing her eyes. "You need a majority vote from the board to remove me from my position. But you don't have to worry about that. I will be including the news of my resignation with the announcement of your appointment at the ball next week."

House stood up and walked over to where she stood. "Now why would you do something like that?"

"You know very well why," she said, angrily, taking a step away from him, stopping up short when her back was pressed against the wall.

House took another step closer, well and truly invading her personal space. He could see on her face as her anger faded and the fear he'd noted earlier returned. He lowered his head until his mouth was barely an inch from hers. Her breathing quickened and House felt his own pulse speed up in response. She smelt delicious, a mix of rose and vanilla, and he could see the light smatter of freckles across her nose; the purplish stains under her eyes that betrayed her lack of sleep.

He had been about to make a remark about her conditions of employment but the witty comeback died on his lips. Instead he lowered his head further, watching her until her eyes fluttered shut. Their lips touched, hesitantly at first, and while she stubbornly kept her lips closed and her arms remained crossed in front of her breasts, she didn't step aside or push him away. Encouraged, he flicked his tongue over her bottom lip and heard a strangled noise in her throat. She was doing her best not to respond, but her body betrayed her: her breath was coming in quick gasps, and when he put his hand on her neck he could feel her rapid pulse.

"You want to kiss me back, I know," he said against her mouth. He kissed her again, pulling her lower lip between his. "But I'll let you get away with it, just this once." He pressed his mouth against hers again before moving back fractionally, just enough to watch her face. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. The anger and fear had disappeared to be replaced by confusion and sadness. It provoked an unexpected wave of tenderness in him, and he stroked her cheek with the back of a finger in some small measure of comfort.

She held his gaze intently. "I wasn't hooker," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I was never a hooker."

House nodded. "Okay."

Their eyes held a moment longer before House leaned in to press another kiss to her lips. Then he put hand against the wall, pushed himself away from her and headed for the door. "I'll see you soon," he said, giving her a flirty smile and letting himself out.

As soon as he was gone, Kitty let out a long breath and quickly went over to her desk and let herself collapse back into her chair. Her whole body was trembling, but she wasn't exactly sure why. Part of her wanted to run after him and yank him back – her body was filled with the urge to kiss him until she couldn't think. Part of her never wanted to see him again. She'd never let someone get so close to the _real_ her, so fast, and it scared the hell out of her.

She had no choice – she had to resign from the PRC. Whether or not he was going to betray her confidence, he seriously unsettled her world. There was no way she could work with him for a year. It was in the PRC's best interests, she told herself. It needed those funds. It would survive without her. The bigger question was, would she survive without it? She sighed.

_It was for the best_, she told herself again, wondering how long it would it take before she was convinced.

-

* * *

**A/N: **The song House sings is "Kitty" by Presidents of the United States of America.

Please leave me a review! I get so excited when you do!


	8. Chapter 8

_Friday_

House was sitting in Wilson's office, patient of the week solved, trying to convince his friend to leave early for a drink. Wilson was droning on about something – probably the evils of leaving early – but House wasn't really listening. Most of his attention was focused on his newest challenge: juggling a crystal paperweight, a stapler and a fluffy bunny some patient had left behind in Wilson's office. The different weights and velocities of the objects made it a particularly difficult challenge and House had his tongue gripped between his front teeth in concentration. He was vaguely wondering whether the paperweight was particularly valuable as his rhythm began to slip, when Wilson's office door crashed open, startling them both.

"House!" Cuddy marched in waving a newspaper, a thunderous look on her face.

Distracted, House fumbled the catch and the fluffy bunny went flying, hitting Cuddy squarely in the chest before bouncing to the floor.

"Goal!" House cried, as if it had been intentional. Inwardly he thanked whatever fortune had smiled upon him that had enabled him to avoid smacking Cuddy in the fun-bags with the paperweight or the stapler. He caught the paperweight and the stapler hit the floor and bounced under Wilson's desk.

Wilson began to laugh but stifled it instantly as Cuddy's glare hardened. Clearly she was angry enough that even stupid pranks weren't going to distract her. She waved the newspaper at House threateningly.

"You're the new Chairman of the Pain Research Council?"

"What?" Wilson just about choked. "You told me you wouldn't even consider—"

Cuddy turned to face Wilson. "You mean you _knew_ about this? And you didn't tell me? You didn't try to stop him?"

"But . . . I . . . I . . ." Wilson foundered.

Cuddy tutted at his stuttering and went back to berating House. "House, you barely meet your commitments to this hospital without going and adding new ones. You're so behind in your clinic hours that you'll be working there as a corpse. You never so much as lift a finger to help with our fundraising and yet you've signed up for a year with another organisation helping to do exactly that." Cuddy's hands went to her hips, her anger barely contained. "And apart from all that, you haven't given a thought to the fact that by committing yourself to the PRC, you are by proxy committing _this hospital_ to the PRC. You didn't seek permission from the board – let alone from _me_," she added with a bitter laugh, "and I had to read about it in the newspaper. Just now."

She stood there, panting slightly from the effort of her fury.

House had seen Cuddy angry. He'd seen Cuddy very angry. This definitely fell into the "very angry" category. He knew that it was better not to rile her further, but to cut and run and have the rational conversation later, when her anger had subsided.

"Why?" Wilson asked, cutting to the chase. "Why did you do it, when you were so determined not to?"

House shrugged. "Stuff happened."

"_Stuff_," Cuddy snorted.

"Oh my God, you slept with her, didn't you?" Wilson asked, his tone more than astonished.

House shrugged again but looked away. He hadn't really, he told himself, but he did wonder how much their little interlude had had to do with his capitulation, as abbreviated as it had been.

"Oh!" Cuddy threw up her hands. "I should have known! It comes down to sex with you, every time, doesn't it?"

Both House and Wilson gave Cuddy enquiring looks at that statement and she seemed slightly flustered for a moment before she recovered and glared at them both. "It doesn't matter, it's too late now. I've called the PRC and purchased three tables at their fundraiser next week, to demonstrate our backing of your stupid, impulsive decision. Did you even think about how it would look if we weren't represented at the PRC's biggest night of the year? The PRC _Chairman's_ hospital? _Of course not_." She answered her own question with an irritated flick of her head. "And when the fun of all this wears off and you inevitably get bored, don't think you'll be roping me in to do your administration work for you."

She narrowed her eyes at Wilson. "And now that I know you knew about this and still let it happen, one of those tables will be coming out of the oncology budget, so you'd better find another nine people who don't have anything to do next Friday night."

Wilson looked about to protest and then shut his mouth again, clearly seeing any attempt would be futile.

"You'll also be helping me to smooth this over with the board," Cuddy continued.

"Yeah, okay," Wilson said, his voice small.

"And you," she gave House one last, long glare. "If you make me regret that I didn't force you to immediately retract this statement and resign from the PRC, so help me, I'll remove your testicles personally. With a spoon."

Cuddy turned on her heel and marched out of Wilson's office, slamming the door behind her.

Both men sat in silence for a while.

"She's kind of sexy when she's angry, isn't she?" House asked pleasantly.

Wilson shook his head.

-

* * *

-

Cuddy strode back to her office, still steaming with anger. She took the stairs in an effort to try and work out her fury in physical activity. House had done some dumb things in his time, but this was up there. The thing was, he clearly had absolutely no idea what the impact of his decision was. What it meant for the hospital. What it meant for _her_.

_As per usual_. She sighed. _Why should she expect anything else? _

Still fuming, she walked past her assistant who was on the phone but waving frantically at her.

"She's just back, sir. I'll see if I can put you on." The assistant pressed the hold button and looked up at Cuddy beseechingly. "This guy has been trying to get you all day. He's getting rude. Can you take the call?"

"Sure." _Just what I need._ Cuddy shrugged off her jacket and headed for her desk and the blinking red light that told her the call waited for her attention. _Knowing my any luck it will be one of House's patients calling to complain and I'm going to have to defend him – again. _

"Cuddy." Her voice was clipped, more so than usual.

"Dr Cuddy, is that you? It's Denis Barnes here."

_Shit. Great, now she'd gone and unintentionally offended one of the hospital's donors._

"Mr Barnes!" Cuddy's voice returned to the usual even, ingratiating tone she used for donors. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was you calling."

"Bad day?" He chuckled and Cuddy felt a shiver go up her spine. She'd never liked Denis Barnes. He was . . . _creepy_.

"Something like that," Cuddy said quickly. "How can I help you? My assistant said you'd been trying to get hold of me urgently."

"Well, I guess it's not really that important. I'm sure you heard about my father's passing a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, yes, of course, I'm very sorry for your loss." Cuddy cringed, and cursed House again for distracting her. She should have offered her sympathies before he'd had to bring it up.

"Yes, yes," Denis said dismissively. "Anyway, as I'm now the head of the Barnes Trust, I'm calling all our major beneficiaries to let them know that there won't be any changes in our arrangements just because, well, you know, we've had a change of management here."

He gave a hearty-sounding laugh that made Cuddy's skin crawl. _Imagine referring to your father's death as a "change of management"._ Something about all this wasn't right.

"I'm glad to hear that," Cuddy said. The Barnes trust had become a donor to PPTH ward about two years ago, she recalled. When Andrew Barnes had been diagnosed with cancer, he'd funnelled a significant proportion of the Barnes Trust into oncology departments at major hospitals throughout New York and New Jersey. The bequest wasn't necessarily the largest contributor to Princeton Plainsboro, but it was significant enough that she didn't want to lose it. "The Barnes Trust is very important to our hospital," she said soothingly.

"Good, good," Denis said. Cuddy thought he sounded distracted. He paused and there was silence for a moment.

"Was there anything else I can help you with, Denis?" Cuddy prompted.

"Well, actually," he cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask you about one of your doctors and a small medical research council called the PRC."

Cuddy's stomach sank. She had no idea what Denis Barnes wanted to ask, but she figured it couldn't be anything good.

"Oh?" she said faintly.

"Before his death, my father set up a separate, small trust to provide funding for the PRC. I heard that they've just appointed a new Chairman, a Dr House, and that he works at your hospital."

"Yes, that's right."

Denis's voice had a forced jollity to it. "So I thought, I know, I'll give little Lisa Cuddy a call and get all the inside info from her."

She swallowed hard, deliberately ignoring the "little Lisa Cuddy" remark. "What sort of 'inside info' were you looking for Denis?"

"Oh, you know . . ." Denis seemed to be having trouble getting specific. "Dr House, is he any good?"

Cuddy had a spiel that she'd used so many times it flowed from her automatically. "Dr House is a world-renowned diagnostician. He is an invaluable asset to this hospital because he will stop at nothing to save lives. He is the most referred-to doctor on our staff and his reputation extends around the globe." She paused for barely a moment before continuing. "I think he'll do an excellent job as Chairman of the PRC and I'm fully supportive of him taking up the position." Cuddy superstitiously crossed her fingers under her desk at her blatant lie.

"Right, right. Of course." Denis coughed. "And . . . ah . . . what about . . . personally? What's he like as, you know, _a person_?"

Cuddy thought that this was probably the strangest conversation she'd ever had about House, and that was saying something. She frowned at the telephone – it sounded like Denis Barnes was asking about a potential _date_ or something. And she had absolutely no idea how to answer his question. "Sorry Denis, I'm not quite sure what you mean."

He laughed again, sounding nervous this time. "Oh, never mind. It doesn't really matter."

Cuddy was left feeling very unsettled and wondered what his call had really been all about. The very fact that he'd said he'd rung to confirm that the donation to the hospital wouldn't be affected worried her. She needed to schmooze Denis Barnes right away. Suddenly an idea clicked.

"Denis, the hospital has purchased tickets for the PRC's fundraiser next week. I know it's late notice, but I'd be thrilled if you were able to join us as the hospital's guest?"

Denis gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, that sounds wonderful, just wonderful."

"So, two tickets? You and . . . your wife?" Cuddy added hesitantly. She couldn't remember if he was married or not.

"No wife, I'm a carefree bachelor Dr Cuddy! But I'm sure I can find someone to accompany me."

"That's . . . lovely," Cuddy managed. Denis as a _carefree bachelor_ made her feel nauseous.

"I can't wait to sit next to you, Dr Cuddy, and have you tell me all about what's been happening."

"Oh." Cuddy had been planning on dumping Denis and his partner on Wilson's table as further punishment for Wilson. She sighed. "I'm looking forward to it," she said, squeezing her crossed fingers even more tightly."

"So I guess I'll see you next week. Good bye Lisa."

He hung up the phone abruptly and Cuddy was left staring at the handpiece. She still didn't know what on earth that had all been about and now she was stuck sitting next to Denis Barnes for a whole night. _Yuck. _


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thanks everyone for your lovely reviews -- I love hearing from you! So glad you're enjoying the story.

* * *

-

_Friday night_

Kitty defrosted a TV dinner and picked at it half-heartedly. It had been a long day at the office – the cap to one of the longest weeks of her life – but everything was more or less in place for the fundraiser the following week and all the official requirements for House taking over as Chairman had been completed. She'd even picked up her dress for the ball from the dry-cleaners that afternoon knowing that next week would be even busier. She could see it from her position on the sofa: it hung on her bedroom door, too long to fit into her closet without crushing the bottom of it. The mask she'd bought to match also hung from the hanger, the peacock feathers glinting darkly in the faint light from the living room.

She sighed. If everything went to plan, it was going to be one of the most successful evenings in the PRC's history. Pity it would be the last one she'd ever attend. But after the discussion with Steve and House, she knew she had no other option. House had seemed to take her denial of his accusation at face value, but she knew she could never trust that. Never trust him. She'd got into this because of Andrew's game, now it had rapidly turned into Greg House's game. _Enough was enough. _

Kitty was going to only play Kitty's game from now on. And that was to protect herself from attack, to secure her professional reputation, and to ensure the PRC's success, even if that meant its future was without her.

Throwing her fork down onto the container, she decided to give up on the tasteless meal and she instead went into the kitchen and opened a bottle of merlot. A couple of glasses would help her sleep, she figured. Because although she felt tired enough to sleep for a month, she knew the night would be like every other this week, tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind down.

She'd just taken the first sip of wine when there was a loud knock at the door. The sound startled her, because it was so unexpected and so rare. No one knocked at her door. Especially not at eight pm on Friday night.

"Who's there?" she called out, walking over to the door, glad for her security chain and deadlock.

"Let me in."

He didn't identify himself, but Kitty knew instantly who it was.

"Go home, Dr House. You'll have your moment of glory next Friday night."

"Let me in," he repeated.

"Why on earth should I do that?" Kitty asked. She knew the smart thing to do would be to stay silent. To let him bang at the door until he got bored and went away. But knowing him, that could take a very long time.

"I have to talk to you."

"What about?"

"My father."

Kitty looked down at her wine glass and raised it to her lips, taking a long sip. It wasn't what she'd expected him to say. "Why?" she asked eventually.

"Because you knew him. I didn't. He up and died without so much as introducing himself."

Kitty sighed, angry with herself that his blatant manipulation was actually getting to her. He probably did care a little about Andrew, did want to know more about his father's life, but this time she was sure it was just a convenient excuse to get inside so that he could torture her further. Despite that, for some reason she knew she was going to cave in to his demands. Perhaps because she hadn't known her own father and knew what longing for that kind of information was like. Perhaps because a traitorous part of her that she would not consciously acknowledge couldn't wait for him to kiss her again. Kiss her and touch her and . . . more.

She opened the door, leaving the safety chain fastened. He moved to step in, but frowned when the door hitched.

"I'm not dangerous," he protested.

Kitty snorted inelegantly. "Yeah, right," she muttered under her breath. "Ground rules," she said, meeting his eyes.

"Ground rules?"

"I'm not letting you in unless you agree to ground rules."

"Like what?"

"One, our discussion will only cover two subjects: Andrew Barnes and the PRC. If you so much as mention anything else I will throw you out. Two, you will not touch me. If you even try, I'll call the police."

"I think that's a bit harsh—"

"Three, when I decide the conversation is over, then the conversation is over and you will leave quietly. Do you agree?"

"Well, I think you're being—"

"Do you agree?" Kitty said, her eyes boring into his. She was _not_ going to get so worked up that she had an angina attack. It wasn't worth it.

He stared at her, clearly unhappy about her terms. But something in her expression must have told him she was serious because eventually he gave a short nod of his head. "Okay."

Kitty unchained the door and opened it wide.

"I'll have what you're having," House said, gesturing at her drink before stepping inside and heading straight for one of the two large sofas that dominated the tiny living room. They sat facing each other with a low, wide timber coffee table between them. Her kitchen nook was off to the left and a short corridor to her bedroom and ensuite bathroom followed from that. It was small, but it was home.

Kitty rolled her eyes at his comment, but went and poured him a glass of wine, topping up her own as she did. She returned to the living room, handed him the glass and ignored his hand patting the seat next to him. Instead she sat on the opposite sofa, facing him.

"That's not very friendly," he protested.

"Strike one," Kitty said. Her voice was calm but there was a steely threat running through it.

"Okay, okay!" He held up his hands in defence. "No need to get snippy."

"You wanted to know about Andrew?"

House took a sip of his wine and gave her a measured stare. "When did you meet him?" he asked.

Kitty sighed. "Greg, I was serious when I said you could only ask about—"

"Don't be ridiculous. If you're going to be pedantic I'll rephrase the question: How old was my father when he met you? There, that's a question about him, not about you."

"Technically—"

"Oh, just shut up and answer the question."

Kitty threw a hand up in the air in exasperation. She realised that she'd got herself into this. It was easier just to answer. "He was sixty-two. Had just celebrated his birthday."

"And that means you were twenty-four."

Kitty was startled by his knowledge. "How do you know how old I am?"

"Actually for someone as smart as you are, I'm surprised you didn't want to know how I knew where you lived."

Kitty felt a stab of anger at him and with herself for not questioning him on exactly that. "How _did_ you know?"

"Got my induction pack from the PRC. Lots of interesting and _useful_ information that the Chairman needs to know. After-hours contact details for staff members and the like. And media releases, including the one announcing when you were appointed as Executive Director. Had your age in it. I noticed – you're exactly ten years and five days younger than me."

"Smart ass," Kitty muttered.

"Yep. We're both Geminis – that means we have four personalities in the room right now – isn't it fun?"

Kitty felt the urge to slap the smug smile right off his face. "What else did you want to know about _Andrew_?" she asked with emphasis on the name.

"What was he like?"

"That's a pretty broad question for someone as particular as you. What do you mean?"

"I mean, what was he _like_? Happy? Morose? Grumpy? Loving? Miserly? You know, just go with the adjectives."

She took in a deep breath and released it slowly. He wanted adjectives? She could do that. "Successful. Demanding. Perfectionist. Caring. Occasionally manipulative. Sweet. Good looking – people used to say he looked like Sean Connery." Kitty felt her mouth curve into that smile it did when she thought kind thoughts of Andrew. "A lot of people saw him as an arrogant, overly-confident entrepreneur who didn't let anything or anyone stand in his way. And he was all that – he often spoke without thinking, and hurting other people's feelings wasn't a big issue for him. But underneath he was also very generous and he could be very loving and protective."

Kitty looked down at her wine glass and swirled the liquid around. Andrew had been the closest thing she'd had to a father. When he'd put his arm around her and tell her everything was going to be okay, she believed him. He'd been there when her mother died, helped organise the funeral, helped sort out all the paperwork and bills. Made her feel less . . . _alone_.

"Did he ever say anything about me?"

Kitty looked up sharply. The joking tone was gone and she was shocked by the honest, earnest look in his eyes, almost, but not quite, overshadowed by the carefree attitude he was trying to convey. He _really_ wanted to know. And he was embarrassed by that.

Kitty felt her heart go out to him.

She nodded. "Yes, he did. He told me about you. He was very proud of you. He knew you were a doctor – a good one, he said." Kitty paused, wondering what she should share. But Andrew was dead now and she felt House had a right to know what his father thought of him. "Andrew used to say that you were the son he _should_ have had. He said you were intelligent, driven and successful – which is a marked difference to Denis's fat, lazy and slow." From what Kitty knew, Greg was far more his father's son than Denis. "He was sad that he'd never got to be part of your life. But he knew that it would be easier for everyone if he stayed away."

"Why?" House's voice sounded normal on the surface, but there was an edge to it, a tone that told her that this information was important to him.

"I don't know why he didn't try to contact you once you were an adult. But back then, when . . . well. Your dad was away a lot, Andrew told me. And he and your mother were friends – she was lonely when your dad was away. They didn't mean for . . . _things _to happen between them, but they did. He told me that he loved your mother. I think he always did. He said once she was the love of his life."

"But if he loved her, then why did her let her go back to _him_?"

Kitty shook her head. She didn't really know, all she could tell him was what Andrew had told her. "They were both married. Andrew and Rachael already had Denis and Miranda by then. Your father – Mr House – apparently believed he was responsible for the pregnancy. So I don't know, but I got the impression that Andrew felt it was the right thing to do."

House nodded and fell silent, gazing out the windows for a while.

"I wish for your sake that you had got to know him," Kitty said softly. "He was like a father to me."

"He supported you?" House asked, just as quietly.

"Yes, I guess. He . . . helped me."

"How?"

Kitty was vaguely aware that the conversation had definitely crossed the boundaries she'd set before letting him in. But talking about Andrew had loosened the ties she kept around that topic in her heart. She wanted to talk. She wanted someone else to know, to understand. And then, all at once, the words were rushing out of her.

"I was just finishing pre-med at college – I'd wanted to be a doctor as long as I could remember. Then my mom got sick. Cancer – Ewing's sarcoma." She looked up and he gave her a nod, enough to know that he understood what she meant, but without speaking, somehow realising that now wasn't the time to interrupt. "It was just my mom and me, all my life, and when she couldn't work any longer, I had to drop out of school to look after her." Kitty stopped to take a drink of her wine, hoping he wasn't looking close enough to see that her hands had begun to tremble.

"She was sick for a long time, the medical bills started piling up and I needed money. One of the girls at college used to dance at a . . . uh, you know, _exotic_ dance place. She earned in a single night what I was earning in a week doing clerical jobs. It was enough to pay a nurse to come in while I was out and still have enough left over to pay some of our bills. So, I did it. I didn't love it, but there are worse ways to earn money." She took in a deep breath and blew it out.

"And that's how I ended up meeting Andrew – one of his business contacts brought him to the club to celebrate his birthday."

Kitty was going to leave it at that, but the unexpected surge of honestly made her want to keep talking.

"Andrew was so sweet, so embarrassed – a club like that wasn't his scene. I'd never done anything other than dance, but his friend offered me money – a lot of money – to sleep with Andrew. It was his idea of a birthday present." She took another sip of wine, not sure why the words were still pouring from her. "I'd never done that, and I thought I never would. But my mother was much worse by then and I needed a nurse almost full time. The money was . . . irresistible."

"So after that, you became his mistress," House guessed.

"No, Andrew refused. We talked, I told him about my life, he listened. Then he told me about his and I listened. I _never_ slept with Andrew. Not once. We were never . . . _together like that_." Kitty shook her head, biting her lip as she relived the memories of that night.

House was silent for a while, looking at her intently. Then he cocked his head to the side and said quietly, "So you had sex with the business friend instead, while Andrew watched."

Kitty's mouth fell open and she looked away. She knew she should deny it, but as ashamed as she was that he'd guessed her dirty secret, part of her felt relieved to have someone else share the knowledge.

"He was like a father to me," Kitty protested. "After that night he semi-adopted me. He paid my mom's hospital bills; paid for her to be put into a top-quality palliative care facility. He tried really hard to get me to go back to med school, but I decided that it was too late for me to do that, it'd been too long since I'd finished pre-med and with my mom's illness, well . . . I think something like that either makes you determined to be a doctor or puts you off. So instead he got me into grad school, paid for me to get my MBA. He encouraged me, he came to my graduation, he was so proud of me. He always told me how much he loved how smart I was, how ambitious and determined. He said I reminded him of himself."

"And all he asked for in return was that he get to pimp you out to his business associates when he needed to jerk off." The anger in his voice, although contained, was scary. Kitty shrank back into the sofa.

"It wasn't like that," she said weakly. Her voice held no conviction because suddenly she wondered if it hadn't been _precisely_ like that. No one had ever put it that way before, because she'd never told anyone – until now. It was terrifying to hear it summarised in those words because it made it impossible to avoid; it was totally, undeniably, an accurate summation of what Andrew had asked of her. "It only happened a few times," Kitty said, realising how pathetic it sounded, how pathetic _she_ sounded.

"Excuse me." Kitty put her wine glass on the coffee table, where it tipped over and the remaining wine poured out onto the carpet. She stood up blindly, one hand covered her mouth, and she reached for the arm of the sofa to steady herself. She'd hadn't managed to take a step when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist, holding her back. "I have to go to the bathroom," she protested, her voice muffled by her hand. "I'm going to be sick."

"No, you're not."

Kitty felt like she was trying to draw breath underwater. She knew what a panic attack was, but she'd never experienced one personally. Some rational part of her brain was taking note of her thready pulse, shallow breathing, blurred vision. The feeling in her stomach was more like vertigo than nausea and she realised he was right, she wasn't going to throw up, she just needed to get her breathing under control. So she stood there, braced against the sofa, eyes screwed shut and told herself to breathe.

In.

Out.

Kitty expected him to hug her, to fold her in his arms and tell her he was sorry, or that she shouldn't feel guilty, or any one of a million obvious platitudes. He did none of those things. His grip around her wrist lessened a little, but otherwise he just stood there, silent, waiting while she pulled herself together.

Eventually she took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. She opened her eyes and looked down at the floor and the slowly spreading wine stain. "Crap, that's going to be a pain to get out of the carpet," she said, her voice shaky.

"Probably," he agreed. His hand let go of her wrist and she stepped back, still keeping hold of the sofa for balance.

"I'm sorry," she said, not entirely sure what or who she was sorry for.

"Yeah." He ran his hands through his hair and for a moment his composure dropped and he looked as shaken as she felt. "I think I should go."

"Wait." Kitty spoke before she thought, her hand reaching out to grab his arm without conscious permission.

"I know," he said softly.

They stood, staring at each other for a long moment before he turned away. Without another word, he picked up his cane and walked out, closing the door behind him.

Kitty reached for his still half-full wine glass and drained it in one swallow. She felt strangely lighter, as if something she hadn't known was there had been lifted from her. There was only a trace of guilt in knowing that the weight had simply been transferred. Now it was his to carry.


	10. Chapter 10

Wilson staggered to the door, wanting to do anything to stop the pounding noise.

"I'm coming, shut up. You'll wake the whole building." He opened the door and stepped back, knowing already who it would be. Who else would possibly bang on his door at midnight? "House, there are places you can go, where people are awake and ready to entertain you – they even call them 'ladies of the _night_'—"

"Bring that inside," House said, kicking a box that was sitting in the doorway. "It was a bitch to carry in from the car." He walked inside Wilson's apartment and slumped down on the sofa, reaching for his Vicodin and swallowing two.

With a long-suffering sigh, Wilson picked up the documents box and closed the door. He knew there was no use protesting; no use even in asking politely if this could wait until tomorrow. House didn't see the world from others' perspectives. He guessed he should be grateful that House had carried the box inside himself, instead of demanding Wilson go out in his pyjamas and do it for him.

"Can I ask what this is? What is it that can't possibly wait until after breakfast tomorrow?" Wilson put the box down on the coffee table – it was surprisingly heavy.

"My father was an asshole."

Wilson paused. He'd wondered when this conversation was coming. It had been a long time since the funeral, but the events of this week must have stirred things up. House did seem to take longer than most people to process anything involving emotions. But then Wilson realised he didn't know _which_ father House was talking about. He felt a stab of sympathy for his old friend. "Do you want a drink?"

"Stupid question," House muttered.

Wilson pulled a sweater on over his pyjamas and poured two generous measures of whisky before returning to the living room. House was sitting staring at the box as if it was a ticking bomb, and Wilson's curiosity suddenly overcame sleepiness.

"What is it?" Wilson asked, handing House one of the glasses.

"Pandora's box," House said cryptically.

"Literally?" Wilson asked, arching his eyebrows. "Will all hell break loose on earth if we open it?"

"It's possible," House muttered, taking a swig of his drink.

"Who does it belong to?" The sinister possibilities of House turning up with an unlabelled box in the middle of the night began to enter Wilson's mind. "Did you steal it? Is it anything illegal? It's not alive or anything is it?"

House gave a short, bitter laugh. "I have no idea, but if it was alive it's been in the trunk of my car for almost a week, so I doubt it's still in that condition."

"In your car? The Mercedes?"

"It was part of the bequest from Andrew Barnes. I forgot about it until tonight."

"From your father?"

House winced. "Can you not use that word?"

"What, _father_?"

"That would be the one."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd like to forget that I'm related to him, if it's possible."

Wilson frowned. "And yet on the other hand, here you are with a box of stuff he willed to you." He gestured to the as-yet unopened mystery.

"I know. It doesn't make sense." House rubbed his cheek with his palm, looking confused and serious. Wilson was instantly concerned.

"Right, so it doesn't make sense. That makes it a puzzle – and what do you like more than a puzzle? There's only one way to start solving it." Wilson grabbed the lid of the box in both hands. "Shall I?"

House took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "That's why I'm here."

Wilson lifted the lid and a small puff of dust escaped, settling on the coffee table around it. "It's been shut up for a while," Wilson observed.

House moved forward to the edge of the sofa, his elbows on his knees, peering into the top. "They said it was 'papers'."

"It looks like papers," Wilson said. He pulled the top item out and looked at the cover before opening it and flicking through pages. "It's a college magazine from Johns Hopkins."

"What year?" House asked, pulling out a similar looking publication.

"1982. November." Wilson scanned the contents page. "Wait," he said, pointing at the page. "There's an article in here – _Why ABBA Should Be Banned On Campus_ by Gregory House."

House chuckled. "That's right. I had a music column for about a year – that was one of my better articles. They canned it after I wrote that Pink Floyd's _Dark Side Of The Moon_ was electronic baby food for stoners and they got so many complaints they had to sack me."

"But why?"

"I was being ironic. They didn't get it"

Wilsons shook his head. "That's not what I meant House. Why are magazines with your short-lived music column in a box from your biological father?"

"Oh, yeah, you're right. Weird."

Together they dug through the box, finding about half a dozen more editions of the Johns Hopkins magazine, each featuring a column by Greg House.

House pulled out the next item and held it up between two fingers. "Now I'm getting freaked."

"Why?" Wilson peered closer. "It's an old copy of the Journal of the American Society of Nephrology."

"My first published paper."

Wilson took the journal from House's hand and opened the cover. He scanned the contents page before reading, "_A__ngiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitor-induced renal failure: causes, consequences, and diagnostic uses_, by G House, R Dunn and K Lawrence. Sounds heavy."

"Yeah, and pointless, as it turned out."

Wilson paused, looking at the box that was still almost full. "You know House, I'm guessing this is your biological father's brag box. He couldn't be part of your life, so he followed it instead. I bet we'll find more stuff in here like this."

House flopped back against the sofa. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"So?" Wilson's eyes were alight with interest. "Isn't this fantastic? He cared about you; he followed your life, your career." He delved into the box to pull out the next thing. "I can't wait to see what we find next."

"I can."

Wilson paused, realising he'd got carried away with his own enthusiasm without realising that House did not share it. In fact, House was the very opposite of _enthused_. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

Wilson knew it was a blatant lie, but having known House for as long as he had, he knew that pushing right now would not provide further information.

"Come on, help me. Let's pull everything out of the box and sort it out."

House rolled his eyes, but sat up straight again. He reached for his drink and finished it in one gulp. "Yeah, let's get this sorted out."

-

* * *

-

About half an hour later House and Wilson were surrounded by about a dozen small piles. House wouldn't have bothered with the piles himself, that had been Wilson's doing, but it did make it easier to get a sense of what they had uncovered.

There were six Johns Hopkins' magazines, plus a couple more from Michigan – all containing articles House had written, even one poem House had dearly wished history had forgotten. There was a high school yearbook from his senior year and a couple of college yearbooks too. There were a handful of photographs: a few grainy black and white shots of him as a child, a family portrait of House at his graduation with his mom and John House, a few school portraits, and a couple of snapshots from his early adulthood that House didn't think he'd even seen before. There were more journal articles and a few yellowed newspaper clippings from his early days of medicine when people had still been impressed by his talents. There were some odd things too: a local sports magazine with an article about House's lacrosse team that didn't even mention him, and a report card from grade school. The teacher had written: _Greg is comfortable taking the lead, but he can sometimes hurt his classmates' feelings by not listening to them or taking their ideas into account. _There was an old spirit-duplicated page – the purple ink very faded – of one of his hand-written school assignments.

"Do you think your mother sent him some of this?"

Wilson's words echoed exactly what House was thinking – _how had Andrew Barnes got his hands on this stuff? _House had no idea how to even begin a conversation with his mother about it all.

"I don't know," House said gruffly. "I guess she could have. Lots of it is publicly available – not hard to get. The photos and the report card . . ." House shrugged. His mother must have sent them to him. All this time, behind his back. He wondered if his mother had any idea what kind of man Andrew Barnes _really_ was.

"I guess," Wilson echoed. "Want another drink?"

House rolled his eyes at the stupidity of Wilson even needing to ask.

Wilson refilled their glasses before sitting down on the sofa with a sigh. He gestured around them to all the piles of paper. "So, what's this all about?"

"Manipulation," House said, the answer springing to his lips.

"Huh?"

"Manipulation," he said again. "He wants me to think of him as the caring father I never had."

"Wants you to _think that_? But House, collecting all this stuff, over so many years, it's more than manipulation."

House was silent, his thoughts churning. He knew there was more to it than what appeared on the surface – a father trying to connect with his absent son. There was an angle he hadn't seen yet, something else going on.

_Something connected to Kitty. _

"Hypothetical," he said, sitting up straight and looking at Wilson. "Say you're a stripper."

"What?"

"Just play along for now. I'm trying to work something out."

Wilson sighed. "Okay."

Despite the gravity of the situation, House couldn't resist. "No, _say_ you're—"

"Okay, okay. I'm a stripper," Wilson huffed.

House chuckled. "Right, you're a stripper who's doing it to bring in money to support your dying mother – your only family. One night a customer offers you a lot of money to have sex with his friend."

Wilson frowned. "Whose hypothetical is this?"

"Doesn't matter," House said dismissively. "Point is, even though you agree, the friend refuses the sex, says he wants to help instead. He gives you money to go back to school and pays for your mother's care. Looks after you. Acts like a father to you."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you? Only there's a price."

"Of course there's a price. There's always a price."

"The price is that every now and then he gets you to help out with a business associate he wants to impress."

"What, stripping?"

"Sex. Blow jobs mostly." It was a guess, but House was almost sure he was right.

"Oh."

"And he gets to watch."

"Oh. Ugh." Wilson frowned. "I'm assuming that as a stripper I'm legally an adult?"

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence. "So?" Wilson asked House. "What's the question?"

House realised he'd outlined the situation without being entirely sure of what it was he wanted to know. "Oh right. So, why would you do it?"

"Well, if I was the stripper I'd be grateful for the money. And if I was young, and my mother – my only family – was dying and someone appeared who took on a parental role, someone who helped with my mother and who took care of me, well . . . that would be very appealing. I guess I'd do it for my mother and for myself."

"Exactly." Wilson had just confirmed House's own thinking. He wasn't confused as to why Kitty had accepted Andrew Barnes's offer. Barnes had offered her something she needed and he'd been a father figure when her sole parent was dying. Kitty's decision to accept that was perfectly understandable. "But what's in it for the guy?"

"The, uh, benefactor?"

"The pervert."

Wilson frowned and House knew he'd said that a little too vehemently. He couldn't remember ever using the word _pervert_ before, either. Sex, as long as it was consensual, could mean anything and everything, in House's book. One person's perversions were just other person's creativity, as far as he was concerned. _Except not this time._

"Hmmm." Wilson thought for a while. "Sexually speaking, maybe he's dysfunctional in some way and can't actually perform the act with someone."

"Yeah, I guess."

"And maybe he just liked her and wanted to look after her? In a messed up kind of way."

House scoffed. "As simple as that?"

"Well, maybe he doesn't have children and she's like a substitute daughter. Again – in a messed up kind of way."

"He has children. One daughter and a son. _Two _sons," House said, correcting himself. _Two sons. One of which he finds unsatisfactory. The other of which is estranged to him. _The pieces started to arrange themselves in House's head. _The estranged son is a doctor: ambitious, driven, motivated. All characteristics he sees in the blonde stripper – _med student_ – that life has brought his way. An almost-orphan in desperate need of a parent_.

"Maybe she's like a substitute _son_," House mused aloud.

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it." House grabbed his cane and stood up. "It's late, I'm going home."

Wilson screwed up his face in an expression of frustration that House was intimately familiar with. "But House, you can't just go. What was all that about? Is the guy your father? Who was the stripper? Was she a transvestite?"

"All good questions," House replied in a way he knew would be infuriating. But now that he had begun to make sense of things there were only two thoughts on his mind. The first was to get some sleep; he was exhausted. The second was to go back and see Kitty Brecht again. He hadn't solved the puzzle yet. He knew she still held a number of pieces that he needed.

And he still hadn't got laid. Getting Kitty's magnificent legs wrapped around him was still pretty high on his priority list too.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Short-ish chapter today, but I will post Chapter 12 in a day or two. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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The following morning, after a broken night's sleep, Kitty woke up with a migraine. She was familiar with these headaches, they were a common side-effect of the medication she took daily for her angina. But she groaned – today she just wanted to have a normal day. Do all her usual weekend chores, catch up on some work, try to regain her sense of equilibrium. The events of last night were swimming around in her memory indistinctly and Kitty had the sense that it was some kind of bizarre self-preservation: it was better not to remember things too clearly for now. Not while her brain hurt.

She got up and forced herself to eat some breakfast and have a shower because sometimes those simple activities could make the headache recede. But not today. She put on some light cotton track pants and a soft knit that wrapped around her – her headache sometimes made her skin sensitive and she needed the softest, gentlest clothes. Instead of going back to bed, she lay on the sofa, a light mohair throw over her, Bach playing softly in the background.

Being forced to lie quietly with nothing but her thoughts for companionship was not what she needed. She needed activity, a workout at the gym, perhaps even a visit to her friend Fiona and her five-year-old twins – children generally didn't leave space for self-reflection. But the very_ idea_ of being in the same room as running, laughing, yelling kids made her wince.

Kitty realised she must have dozed off when she woke up to the feel of her hair being brushed back from her face. It was such a loving, gentle gesture, for a confused moment Kitty thought it was her mom.

"Hmm," she murmured sleepily, moving her head into the touch. It stopped immediately and Kitty heard the rustle of someone's arm being drawn back. Her eyes flew open, startled. _It wasn't a dream!_

"It's just me," a voice said.

It wasn't reassuring. Kitty had the room darkened and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on the person seated on her coffee table, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees so he could peer at her. She let out a breath as she gazed into those unmistakable blue eyes.

Kitty went to sit up, but her head instantly reminded her as to why she was lying down in the first place and she collapsed back against the throw pillow with a groan. "How did you get in?" She tried to make her voice as authoritative as possible, but given that she couldn't sit up and it came out as a hoarse whisper, she figured it wasn't very convincing.

"The door wasn't locked."

"I'm an idiot." Kitty belatedly realised that when she'd gone to bed after he'd left, she hadn't given the door a second thought.

"You won't get an argument from me."

"Can you go away? I'm not up for company right now." She closed her eyes in the hopes of shutting him out. Not only was she physically incapable of holding a conversation, she had no desire to pick up where they'd left off last night. None of it deserved revisiting, especially not now.

"Migraine?" House asked, and Kitty was grateful that at least he was keeping his voice low and quiet.

"How'd you guess?" The question was sarcastically rhetorical, but he answered it anyway.

"Darkened room, light blanket, Tylenol migraine-strength out on the counter in the bathroom, but mostly the Imdur in your bedroom. Treatment for chronic angina. Side effects include headache, dizziness, low blood pressure, syncope."

"Smart ass." _He'd been in her bathroom and her bedroom?_ Kitty wondered how long she'd been asleep and how long he'd been in her apartment. From the light peeping in through the cracks in the curtains, she'd guess it was mid-afternoon.

"Have you tried any natural therapies?"

"Like what? I know you're such a big fan of them." Kitty figured he was having a jab at the PRC's alternative therapies committee – again.

"A recent article in the Journal of the American Headache Society found that orgasm is an effective treatment for forty-seven per cent of migraine sufferers."

"What?" Kitty's eyes flew open again. "Forget it. I'm not that half."

"How do you know? For the other half it has no effect, so isn't it worth a try?"

"Then there's the five per cent for whom it makes the headache worse." Kitty had read the article – she read widely about all kinds of pain research. She remained unconvinced.

"Bah, five per cent? That's nothing. I'm a betting man. I'm going with the forty-seven percenters."

"This is my headache. Go away."

House seemed to finally get the message and he sat back, shaking his head at her.

"Here I am trying to make you better and you reject me!"

"Uh-huh," Kitty said, her eyes fluttering shut. "Reject yourself all the way out of my apartment, please."

House made a muttered noise of annoyance and a moment later she heard him rustling around. She wasn't perturbed enough by his presence to be terribly alarmed, which, she figured, must have been why she dozed off again so easily.

This time when she woke he wasn't brushing the hair from her face. His finger trailed up her arm and then traced a path along her collarbone and down between her breasts. He stroked the swell of one breast where the knit she was wearing had gaped apart while she slept. She felt goose bumps prickle her skin where he touched her and resisted the urge to shiver.

"Leave me alone," Kitty protested, hearing how weak and unconvincing she sounded.

"I don't think you really mean that."

Kitty paused, sucking in a breath before she could say what was on her mind. "How can you want to? I mean after last night? After what I told you?" She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the disgust in his eyes.

"After you told me what an asshole Andrew Barnes was, you mean?"

"After I told you what I did," Kitty clarified.

"If I got it right, what you did was find a way to support yourself and your dying mother. It's so noble I could almost barf."

Despite herself, Kitty felt a bubble of laughter rise up inside her. She slowly opened her eyes to find him staring at her. His gaze held desire, curiosity, puzzlement. She was a puzzle and he looked as if he couldn't decide which he wanted to do most: solve her or have sex with her. What wasn't there, the thing Kitty had expected to see, was pity. There was no sense of the "poor little girl" who'd been corrupted by Andrew Barnes or the woman who felt she would never escape it.

"You _get it_." Kitty felt a swooping feeling in her gut, a little like a dizzy spell, only she was already lying down. _She was understood_. It was a feeling like no other – relief, disbelief, astonishment all swum through her. She'd thought no one would ever understand, no one would ever get what had been between her and Andrew. And now – ridiculously – his biological son did.

House shook his head. "No, I'm not entirely sure I do. I think that's why I'm back here. That and your killer legs."

"Ha." Kitty let out a brief, sad laugh. He did get it, she could tell from the look in his eyes. He just wanted to know everything, to have every piece of the puzzle, before he would be satisfied. That was why he was really here. Her relief was still there, but part of her dreaded the moment when he was going to push her for more, push to know all of it. But for now she just wanted his hand to keep doing what it was doing, stroking her chest, tracing the line of her scar, dragging her top further and further apart to reveal more of her breasts to him.

"Move back," he said gruffly, shifting to sit next to her on the sofa.

Kitty grimaced as she moved. The headache was still there and movement made the pounding return.

"I need more Tylenol," she said, her voice faint.

House grumbled under his breath, but she felt him get up and heard him in the bathroom. Shortly after, she felt two tablets being pressed against her lips. She opened her mouth to accept them and then lifted her head to meet the glass of water that he held for her.

"Thanks."

"Next time I'll bring you better drugs," he said.

_Next time? _Kitty was going to comment but couldn't find the energy to speak. She didn't say anything further as his hands moved over her. His touch was light, like a gentle massage, treating her as if she was fragile. Before she knew it, her cardigan had disappeared, her track pants and panties were gone and she was lying naked, the mohair throw tucked around her for warmth.

Kitty didn't know if this was what she wanted, this passive, submissive, _giving in_ to him. Her hands ached to touch him, she wanted to feel every part of him, make him tremble and gasp like he was doing to her. But at the same time she knew she didn't want him to stop, couldn't have him leave without finishing what he'd started. Because she could feel herself opening up, trusting him more with each touch. All those times with Andrew's colleagues it had never been about her, about what she wanted or her pleasure. Which didn't mean that it had never been pleasurable, because sometimes it had. But it had mostly been about her being on display, being the main attraction in a scene that had been designed for someone else's satisfaction. Right now she felt on display in a totally different way. She was opening herself to one man and he was taking and treasuring that all for himself.

"Don't stop," she said, her voice no more than a breath.

"Wasn't intending to." His voice was flippant on the surface, but held a thread of tension, enough to let her know that what he was doing was affecting him. "Your skin is so soft."

It was awkward, the sofa wasn't really big enough for the two of them and she squished herself as far back into the cushions as she could to give him more room.

His hands traced fire where they moved over her, rubbing, gently pinching. Her nipples peaked in the cool air after he kissed and licked them; her legs parted without her conscious permission as his fingers delved between them. Before she knew it she was holding her breath, releasing it in short gasps, each one building the tension higher and higher.

"Oh God," she gasped, hardly believing this was happening to her, not when she'd been sure it never would again. Genuine, honest, straightforward pleasure from a man's hands on her body.

Her back arched, pushing into his torturous touch, wanting more at the very same time she wasn't sure she could take it.

"Come for me." His voice was half a growl and half a whisper and it sent her over the edge, crashing into blinding pleasure, her body contracting and grasping, distantly wishing there was more, that he was inside her, but seizing the bliss he offered and letting it carry her away.

When she returned to earth she was aware of his hand still moving against her gently, giving her little aftershocks, as his lips sought hers. He kissed her, and Kitty could feel his restraint. He wanted to plunge into her, to take her hard, and she wanted that too, desperately. But her body – and her mind – had had enough, and she didn't have the energy to encourage him; she knew couldn't meet his need.

_Later._ She'd make it up to him later.

His hand left her to pull the blanket over her nakedness and tuck it around her. He leaned in for one more kiss.

"Go to sleep."

"Mm-hmm." Kitty could barely manage the murmured agreement. She curled up, was conscious of the threads of pleasure still wending their way through her body, and then, blissfully, stillness.


	12. Chapter 12

"What time is it?"

House yawned and checked his watch. "Eight." He stretched out on the sofa opposite her. He'd dozed off shortly after she had and had woken about a couple of hours ago. He'd been watching TV since then.

"Eight at night?" Kitty's voice filled with shocked disbelief and she sat up. House had a moment to admire her full breasts as the blanket fell away before she remembered she was naked and she pulled it back over to cover her. Her face flushed in embarrassment.

House shook his head. "No need for that. I've seen it all now."

"I guess you have," Kitty said, giving him a shy smile. "And yet I still haven't seen most of you."

"Most of me? Oh, you mean the part inside my jeans? Yeah, I guess that would classify as most of me."

Kitty rolled her eyes.

"How's the headache?" he asked.

She frowned and seemed to do an internal assessment. "Better. I don't believe it actually worked."

"Told you," he said smugly.

"It wasn't exactly a controlled experiment. I also had more Tylenol. That could explain it."

"Oh, listen to Miss Pain Research Council, all pernickety about experiment conditions."

"You could have made my headache worse."

"_Primum non nocere_."

Kitty snorted. "Yeah, right. From what I've heard about your methods, the Hippocratic Oath is optional as far as you're concerned."

His reply was interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

Kitty jumped, looking at him with wide, panicked eyes. "Who is that?"

House gave her a disbelieving look as he stood up and went over to the door. "Have you never ordered take out? It's pizza." He opened the door and gave money to the bored looking delivery guy, ignoring Kitty's frantic scrambling behind him to ensure her nakedness was covered.

"I got two extra-large because I figured you'd be hungry after spending most of the day asleep. Not to mention your afternoon workout," he said, giving her a sleazy wink as he slid the pizzas onto the coffee table.

"You . . . you . . ." Kitty spluttered, holding her clothes and the blanket around her. "He could have seen!"

"Could have seen what?" House asked blithely, at the same time giving her an exaggerated leer from top to toe.

"Oh!" Kitty stood up with a frustrated growl. "You're infuriating."

"Where are you going?" House asked as Kitty headed towards the darkened corridor that led off from the living room.

"To get dressed."

"You can do that here."

"So what? You can watch?"

"Sure. Why not?" House flipped open one of the pizza boxes and lifted out a slice. "I hope you like anchovies," he said before taking a massive bite.

Kitty huffed and walked off. House smiled around his mouthful as she disappeared – in her efforts to cover her front, she'd forgotten to wrap the blanket securely around her, and her round, creamy derriere was nakedly on show, her hips swaying from side to side as she sashayed away from him. It was a wonderful contrast to the indignant expression on her face as she walked away.

By the time she returned to the living room, House had already eaten almost half a pizza. She was dressed casually in jeans and a light sweater, her hair pulled up in a ponytail that made her look young and fresh.

"What a pig!" she called, seeing how much House had already eaten.

"Get in or you'll miss out," House said. He watched as she picked up a slice of pizza and her mouth closed around it. He'd never thought of pizza eating as a particularly erotic activity, and Kitty wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, but for some reason he couldn't drag his eyes from her.

He hadn't planned to do what he'd done to her that afternoon; he'd arrived wanting to grill her about what he and Wilson had discovered in the box. He'd wanted to know more about Andrew Barnes – to understand why the man had invisibly shadowed his own life and whether the link he'd drawn to Kitty's "rescue" was right. But when he'd walked in and found her sleeping, she'd looked so sweet and soft, and the other part of his brain had taken over. He couldn't keep his hands off her – and the migraine was a convenient excuse to touch her. What he'd done had left him frustrated, but at the time he'd been okay with that. He was starting to think that his patience with that situation might not last much longer.

At least her nap had given him time to do some snooping around her apartment. He hadn't found anything particularly incriminating, but there was a large box at the top of the closet in the bedroom that was too high and too heavy for him to get down by himself with his dodgy leg. He was sure it contained clues to some of the secrets he wanted to understand. He'd found a hinged photo frame in her bedroom that held a photo of Andrew Barnes on one side and a woman he guessed must have been her mother on the other. The way it was framed told House that for Kitty, Barnes was entirely a father figure – the two pictures framed together like that screamed "parents".

Other than that he'd found the usual: birth certificate – father unknown, passport, a few photo albums, bank statements. He'd learned that she owned the apartment and her car, had a decent, although not extravagant, amount of money in the bank and had been to the UK a year ago for a couple of weeks. The earrings that Andrew Barnes had given her were in their box, shoved to the back of her lingerie drawer. House knew now that the only reason she'd worn them the night they'd gone to dinner was to intrigue – and possibly confuse – him. It told him she was smart; they'd barely known each other then and she'd already known what would pique his interest.

"Good pizza," Kitty said, reaching for another piece. "I'm starving."

"How's the headache now you're up and about?"

"All gone," she said, before taking another bite.

"It's a miracle!" House gasped in fake astonishment.

"It's not a miracle," she said through her mouthful.

House fell back against the sofa pillows dramatically, a hand on his forehead. "Oh no! I think I've got a headache." He gave her a sly wink. "If you're so sure it's not a miracle, care to add another subject to our little clinical trial?"

Kitty snorted an unladylike laugh and reached into the pizza box for another slice. She bit into it without taking her eyes from him, and House saw the blend of amusement and desire glittering there. She swallowed and smiled at him with deliberate flirtation – the kind of look that had driven him crazy when they'd gone out for dinner. It pushed his blood pressure up a notch and made things begin to stir inside his jeans.

"Don't worry. I'm well aware of my debt to you. You'll be paid," she said, her voice low.

House smiled. "Just so you understand. My services aren't on Medicaid, you know. I expect to be reimbursed for my kindness."

She shook her head and her eyes clouded over for a moment.

"What?" he asked, belatedly realising that his words must have recalled for her the arrangement Andrew Barnes had forged with her years before – that there was always a price for generosity.

Kitty breathed in deep and held it for a moment. "I just . . . I don't really understand this. Why you're here. Why you . . . Why I . . . There's so much about this that doesn't make sense. It's not _right_ . . ." She trailed off then looked at him, her lip caught in her teeth.

House nodded. She was right – there were still a million questions running through his brain. But right now he didn't want to think about it because there were other priorities diverting blood from his thinking organ to one more . . . primitive. "Well, I figure we _could_ torture ourselves with all of that tonight. _Or_ we could give in to the spark that's been there between us since you got into the Mercedes and fuck like rabbits instead. We can always save the angst for another time. I'm pretty sure it'll still be there in the morning."

Kitty nodded slowly and seemed to take a moment to consider him. The desire he'd seen in her eyes earlier flared and deepened. "God, I want you," her voice was barely a whisper and instantly the vibe in the room changed. The light-hearted banter was gone and in its place was a simmering tension; House felt as if the heating had been turned up a couple of degrees.

"Really?" Despite knowing there was a shared attraction, the little boy inside of House couldn't quite bring himself to believe that a beautiful woman like Kitty would say something like that to him. And his cock pulsed in anticipation.

She walked over and stood near where he was sitting on the sofa. "I wanted to earlier, but I just couldn't manage it. You gave me an incredible orgasm, but there was something missing. I wanted to touch you." Her voice lowered even further. "I wanted you in me when I came."

House swallowed hard. "Where's the bedroom?" he asked, forgetting that thanks to his earlier reconnaissance he already knew very well where it was.

Kitty held her hand out to him.

They reached the bedroom and Kitty let go of his hand to go turn on a couple of soft lamps. In the dim light she shrugged off her jeans and pulled her sweater over her head, standing in front of him in white lace panties and bra that were both threaded with ribbons that tied in bows at the front. House couldn't resist thinking of her as a delicious present that he was going to get to unwrap.

"God, _I_ want _you_," he said, echoing her earlier words.

Kitty walked over to him and as soon as she was in reach he pulled her into him, spinning around to press her against the wall behind them.

She gasped. "The wall's col—"

House stole the words from her lips, crashing his mouth to hers. There was no time for the sweet, tender kisses as he'd managed that afternoon. This was pure, raw lust and his tongue thrust into her mouth, claiming her in presage of what he planned to do to her body. He swallowed her groan as he pushed his hips into hers, leaving her in no doubt as to the state of his arousal. It was as if he'd had twelve hours of foreplay and there was no slowing things this time. No taking his time.

He felt Kitty's hands trying to find purchase between the press of their bodies and realised she was trying to take off his t-shirt. He stepped back quickly to drag it over his head before pressing back against her to reclaim her mouth.

Kitty lifted a leg and wrapped it around his thighs while her hands found his ass. She squeezed and pulled him closer, and House was aware that she was rubbing up and down against the wall, against him, and for the second time in just a few days he vaguely wondered if he was going to come in his pants.

"No," House said raggedly, pulling himself away, staggering a little before grabbing hold of her. "We're doing it properly."

"Yes," she agreed. "Now." Her voice was a plea. She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the bed, quickly moving a few pillows and dragging the comforter down. Then she sat down and looked back at him, shifting herself back on the bed until she was lying across it sideways, resting up on her elbows. "Take off your clothes."

House had no problem obeying her direction. He quickly removed his socks, jeans and boxers, forgetting for a moment that she'd never seen his lower half naked; had never seen his scar. He looked up at her face and saw her eyes flicker over it before coming to rest on the impressive erection he had revealed. She licked her lips and let out a little sound that was almost a whimper of need. "I want," she said, her breath catching before she could continue.

"You want?" he asked, teasing her. He circled his fist around himself, running up and down the shaft a couple of times. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this hard.

His action made Kitty groan.

"Take off your panties," he said.

Kitty complied, lifting her hips to pull the white lace down and fling it over the side of the bed.

"Spread your legs." House looked up and could see that his request had made heated passion blaze in her eyes. She obeyed him, slowly parting her legs until she was revealed to him. The sight was almost enough to make him come. Her flushed face turned up to him, gazing at him, her pupils so dilated that her blue eyes were almost black. Her breasts bubbled over the white lace of her bra with every indrawn breath, erect nipples strained against the fabric, and the creamy skin of her rounded belly led down to a neatly trimmed nest of blonde curls that revealed a hot, pink, wet heaven between.

"Kitty's pussy," House said, unable to resist the quip.

"Oh, for God's sake, shut up and fuck me," Kitty moaned. She sat up suddenly and reached forward for his arm, pulling him down to the bed. House let himself fall, climbing up a little so they lay side by side, facing each other. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for another steamy kiss, her tongue meeting his, thrusting into his mouth this time in her need.

Her felt her hand wrap around him, tugging on him, pulling him into her. And then she was using his cock to rub herself, throwing one leg over his hips to open her slit to him. He could feel her moisture coating him, could feel how swollen with desire she was.

"You're so wet," he said against her mouth.

"For you," she said, and House didn't know why, but those two words were his breaking point, he couldn't put up with the teasing any longer. He began to thrust into her hand, pushing deeper between her folds, seeking her entrance. With one hand he cupped her breast, pinching a nipple between two fingers and wished he had more time. More time to kiss and touch and lick and suck every part of her body. But now there was only one thing he wanted, needed, as if his very life depended on it.

"Do I need a condom?" he asked, hoping to God she'd say no because he had no idea how he'd possibly stop to put one on.

"I don't care," Kitty gasped. "Don't stop."

And then her fingers were guiding him and he was slipping inside, not very far because the position was awkward, but enough to know that this was the best sex he'd had in years and he hadn't even come yet. He thrust, pushing himself inside a little further and Kitty gasped.

"More," he growled, unsatisfied by the shallowness of the penetration. He pushed on Kitty's shoulder and rolled on top of her, barely breaking their contact at the hips.

She bent her knees and wrapped her arms around his back as he pushed up onto his arms, lifting his torso above her. She stared up at him, her lips parted, and as he began to press inside her, her eyes fluttered closed. He pulled out a little before thrusting back in, all the way, and with a guttural moan he was finally, blissfully, buried balls-deep inside her.

Kitty cried out and her hands went to his ass, holding him still, pushing him into her, but not letting him move. "Wait," she whispered. "So full."

House realised she was asking him for time to let her body adjust to him, but he hoped it wouldn't take too long. He could feel the pressure building in his balls and with the heat and tightness of her muscles clenched around him he knew this wasn't going to take long. He began to rock gently against her, back and forward, setting up a rhythm. He knew his body was pressing against her clit, and soon enough she began moving with him, meeting him, pushing for more.

"Kitty." It was part question, part ragged plea, but mostly warning that he wasn't waiting any longer.

In answer, she raised her legs and wrapped them around his hips, sinking him deeper into her. "Now. Fuck me, Greg."

"Yes." He began driving into her in long, powerful strokes. At first he tried to be gentle, but he quickly forgot that, lost in the haze of how good she felt around him, the little groans from her each time he buried himself inside her, the slick heat of her body around his.

"So hot," he said, not even really sure what he was saying.

She was letting out little "ahs" with each thrust and they began merging into each other, longer, drawn out cries, until he felt her body begin to spasm around him. "Ah!" A sob ripped through her, her thighs tightened, and a shudder went through her body.

House did his best to keep up the rhythm, pushing blindly until he could feel the pressure expanding through his groin, the jolt of heat rushing through him and his vision blackening. "Oh, Jesus, Kitty," he yelled. He bucked into her, the force of it banging the bed against the nightstand. Once, twice, three times, he thrust into her hard enough to make her cry out with each move. He could feel his semen filling her and revelled in it; a deep, primal force, the reptilian part of his brain declaring victory, a female claimed; she was _his_ now.

Then it was subsiding, his senses slowly returning, his muscles quivering with effort. His arms collapsed and he landed on top of her, his head cradled in the crook of her shoulder, his ragged breaths taking in her delicious scent of rose, vanilla and sex. He didn't want to leave her body, but nature took care of that for him and when he felt himself slip out of her, he realised that he was probably crushing her with his weight. He went to move off her, but her legs and arms around him gripped tighter.

"Just a little bit longer," she whispered.

He nodded against her neck. It was no hardship – he was exhausted, sated, and satisfied. If he never moved again it would fine by him.

They lay like that for a moment, the only sound their ragged breathing as they both tried to regain control.

"I think you'll have better luck catching your breath without a hundred-and-eighty-pound man lying on top of you," House said after a while, chuckling under his breath and rolling off her.

Kitty reached down to take his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers together.

They lay side by side like that for a while, still lying sideways on the bed. House's leg began to ache from the activity and when Kitty shivered from the cool night air he sat up.

"Let's switch around and pull the covers up," he suggested. He reached over to the side of the bed and grabbed his jeans, quickly finding a pill and swallowing it.

While he was doing that Kitty re-arranged the bedding and when he lay back on the pillows she pulled the comforter over them both and lay on her side to face him.

"Leg hurt, huh?" she asked, idly threading one hand through the hair on his chest.

"That was quite a workout."

"You can say that again."

"What about your heart?" House asked, curious. "Does sex give you angina?" He knew for some angina patients that was a real possibility.

"Not usually. I hardly ever get attacks. The worst that happens is I get the odd dizzy spell like in the office the other day."

"That's good." He felt her head move against his shoulder as she nodded. He trailed a finger between her breasts, tracing the white scar. "I wouldn't want to hurt your heart," he said, before realising the double meaning to his words.

Kitty gave a soft laugh. "You couldn't hurt my heart."

"Wanna bet?" House asked sarcastically, choice moments from his romantic history playing through his mind.

"I meant, not that way."

They fell silent, neither of them ready to talk about anything remotely _serious_ yet.

"Are you still hungry?" Kitty asked, changing the subject.

"What are you thinking?"

"That second pizza – was it pepperoni?"

"Yep."

Kitty sat up and jumped out of bed, padding on her bare feet to the door. "Wanna beer too?"

"Oh my God, are you the perfect woman?"

"Maybe." She gave him a seductive smile before disappearing down the hall.

He reached down and scratched his balls. Life was good. Very good. Tomorrow might suck – in fact it probably would – but _right now_ was good. Life had taught House to be thankful for that.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N** Kitty and House continue to get to know each other a little better -- all part of the story -- but more 'plot' returning in the next chapter....

Thanks for your lovely comments!

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Kitty woke up because her bladder was urgently reminding her of the two beers she'd consumed before falling asleep. She squinted at the clock – two am. House was snoring softly next to her, lying slightly on his right side facing away from her. She got up and went into the ensuite bathroom, not turning on any lights and trying to be as quiet as possible. It was strange to have someone else in her apartment – in her bed. It had been a long time, and a first for this apartment.

After she'd relieved herself she stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment, shaking her head in disbelief at what she'd done. The logic of why it had been such a bad decision clawed at the edges of her brain – _he was Andrew's son for God's sake!_ – but she refused to acknowledge it; knowing from experience that there would be plenty of time for self-recrimination and regret. And as House had said himself the previous evening –the mess would all still be there on Monday. _The PRC. House as Chair. House knowing her secrets. Andrew._ She could deal with it then. In the meantime, why shouldn't she enjoy a weekend of pleasure? It wasn't like it was something she did all the time. It wasn't like it was something she did, period.

"Hey."

Kitty looked away from herself and saw his shadowy figure, indistinct in the dimness of the bathroom doorway. "Shh, go back to sleep," she said in a whisper.

"Why?"

"Because it's the middle of the night."

"The middle of the night is the perfect time for getting up to no good," he said sleepily, stepping forward and nuzzling his face into her neck.

Kitty giggled at the ticklish sensation of his beard against her skin.

"Why are you up?" he asked, his mouth still against her throat.

"I needed to pee," she said.

"Me too." He gave her one last smacking kiss on the neck and then walked over to the toilet and began to do exactly that. Kitty grimaced – while it had been a long time since a man had been in her apartment, it had been even longer since she'd shared the peculiar intimacy of watching someone else urinate.

House clearly noted the look on her face. "Listen honey, I've been a doctor for twenty years. The fluids I've seen come out of people's bodies? A bit of pee is nothing to worry about."

Kitty shrugged, it wasn't like she was going to make him stop. But now he was awake she wasn't so worried about being quiet. She grabbed her toothbrush and the toothpaste. "My teeth feel fuzzy," she said by way of explanation.

"Mine too." House held out a finger and she squeezed a little toothpaste on it. He began to rub it over his teeth while he peed and Kitty decided not to look. When he was finished he turned on the taps in her shower. "I've got pizza crumbs in my chest hair," he said by way of explanation.

Kitty nodded. "I feel kind of oily too."

"You don't have a bath," House said, as if it were a crime. "How can you not have a bath?" He reached into the shower and adjusted the water temperature.

"I don't really like baths. They make me feel lazy. A shower feels like I'm doing something."

"But that's the whole point." House grabbed her hand and pulled her into the shower cubicle. It wasn't huge, but the two of them fit relatively easily. He positioned Kitty under the shower head and bent her head back, smoothing the water through her hair. "You'll have to come to my place and have a bath with me. I'll teach you how to have a bath."

"I didn't think men liked baths." Kitty said, feeling a little breathless. She didn't really want her hair wet, but couldn't muster the will to resist. She wasn't quite sure why, but having him touch her like this was incredibly erotic. There was nothing particularly sexual about what he was doing, his movements were perfunctory, he squeezed shampoo into his hands and rubbed it into her hair, but Kitty could feel her knees weaken. She put one hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

He snorted. "Don't use me for balance or we'll both go crashing through that plate glass. _That's_ why I like baths," he added and his voice held a touch of bitterness.

"Oh," Kitty said, wondering if she was meant to feel guilty. She moved her hand from his shoulder to the tiled wall, but didn't say anything further. She simply stood there, revelling in being looked after, enjoying the simple pleasure of his hands on her. He kept talking, a meandering, one-sided conversation that roamed from baths to towels and the price women paid for toiletries. She didn't really listen to the words, just let his voice wash over her like the water. It crossed her mind to wonder what was in this for him, but when she took a step closer to let him rinse the conditioner from her, she felt the evidence of his arousal.

Knowing that simply touching her like that was as erotic for him as it was for her gave Kitty a sense of power. She felt some of her usual confidence return and the doubts she'd had looking in the mirror disappeared again. Once he'd rinsed all the conditioner away, Kitty opened her eyes and looked into his. They still hadn't turned any lights on and perhaps that was what was adding to make this moment unlike any other shower she'd ever had. His eyes gleamed with a desire that his light-hearted banter belied.

"Your turn," Kitty said softly.

"Not the hair," he said. He winked. "Takes me hours to get it to look this good."

Kitty laughed at his mussed, thinning bed-head. "Turn around." They switched places and she pushed him under the shower spray, recognising as she put her hands to the chilled skin of his chest that he must be feeling quite cold. He gave a satisfied sigh as the warm water ran over him. She realised that she wasn't going to want this to take too long. Her poor circulation made her feel the cold more quickly than most people and standing in the chilly air, wet, in the middle of the night, wasn't going to be much fun if it took more than a few minutes.

She grabbed the shower gel and squirted a large amount in her hand. Starting with his shoulders she ran her hands down his arms to the elbows and back. He was corded with muscle and could tell that he must do something to keep in shape. She had no idea what that would be, given his leg – and she doubted he'd admit to anything – but his whole body, legs included, gave the impression of a man who was fit and strong.

He bit his lip when she wiggled her fingers under his arms and into his armpits and Kitty made a note of his ticklishness for later. She lathered the hair there and turned him this way and that under the spray to rinse off. His chest was almost as hard as his arms and running her soapy hands over it was one of the more pleasurable things Kitty had done. She knew that the sexy thing to do would be to run her hands over every inch of him until he was begging for her to touch the part of his anatomy that was currently poking into her hip, but she knew she couldn't wait that long.

He swore under his breath as her hand encircled him. She revelled in the feel of him; this was one part of his body that had definitely not become chilled while he'd washed her. His hands reached down and covered hers, stroking himself and tangling his fingers with hers. Kitty wasn't sure what he was doing until he took his hands away and pressed his palms against her breasts, grasping and squeezing before playing with her nipples with his fingertips.

"Just getting soapy," he explained, his voice gravelly and low.

Kitty gasped at his touch and felt the heavy pulse in her groin matching the pinching of his fingers on her breasts. She longed for him to be inside her again, and to press herself against his body, to lose where she ended and he began. She changed the movement of her hand, rolling up his shaft, gripping tighter as she reached the head. With her other hand she cupped his balls, gently weighing them in her palm, rubbing the fragile skin with her thumb and reaching her middle finger behind to stroke his perineum.

She was rewarded by a low, long groan.

"God that's good," he muttered. His hands on her breasts had stilled, too absorbed with his own pleasure to concentrate on touching her. But he continued to hold them and the heat of his hands just resting there was a pleasing torture in itself.

His breathing became more ragged and Kitty deliberately slowed her movements as she felt him begin to tense. He made a strangled noise of protest and thrust himself into her hand, clearly unwilling for her to stop.

Kitty took her hands away.

"What, are you trying to kill me?" he asked, frustrated.

"I don't want it to end yet," Kitty said simply. She put her hands to his chest and pushed him to take a step back so they could both stand under the shower spray. She rinsed him and then herself, shivering against the heat of the water on her chilled skin. Her toes were so cold the water felt as if it was scolding her.

She turned off the taps and they made quick work of getting dry, each attending to themselves to make things faster. House was, by virtue of his leg, slower than she was, and she stood in the bathroom doorway watching him for a moment. His scar was impressive, running almost the length of his thigh. It wasn't so much that the skin was marred, more that the leg itself was shrunken, shrivelled, collapsed in upon itself. It was such a sad contrast to the rest of his fit body.

"What are you thinking?" he said, and Kitty was startled out of her reverie to find him standing there, watching her with the same intent look she guessed she must have had on her face.

"I was thinking how impressive your cock is," she said with a silly grin. Which wasn't a lie, although it might not have been exactly top of her mind at that particular moment, it wasn't far from it. Thanks to her ministrations in the shower he was at full salute, rising hard and solid from a gingery-brown nest of hair. He wasn't difficult to look at.

He snorted. "Yeah, right." He looked down at his thigh and frowned; a flash of pain crossed his features.

Kitty lifted her chin, determined not to let this spoil things. She knew pity or sympathy would only make things worse. "I was," she pouted. Kitty leaned back against the door jam and propped one foot up, twirling a lock of wet hair around her finger. "I can't wait for you to put it in me, baby," she said in a sultry teasing whisper, not quite managing to keep the smile off her face.

He shook his head, and gave her a wry smile that showed he wasn't even slightly convinced. "Way to change the subject, but this time I'll go with you." He took a hobbled step and gripped the doorframe above her head, bending down to press a hot kiss to her lips. His mouth was minty from the toothpaste, his tongue hot and hungry. Kitty parted her legs slightly to let his penis rub against her and she sighed into him when his hardness made the contact she wanted.

"You still want me to put it in you, _baby_?" he said against her mouth, making a mockery of the endearment.

"Oh yeah," Kitty sighed. She pushed him away from her and took the few steps from the bathroom into the bedroom. He caught her at the edge of the bed and pulled her in for another rough kiss, one hand on the back of her head to press her to him, the other seeking out a nipple and giving it an almost painful twist. Kitty pulled away to gasp in a breath.

He sat down on the bed and curled his hands around her waist, positioning her in front of him. Kitty put a hand on his shoulder and then knelt on the bed straddling his lap, a knee either side of his hips. She rose up, higher than him and looked down. He bent his head slightly forward and took the nipple he'd twisted into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue and sucking lightly. She let him do it for a while, tangling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking back and forward slightly. But the pulse between her legs quickly became an aching throb, a longing, a desperate need to be filled. She repositioned her knees and lowered herself, reaching down to hold him in place, sinking over him slowly, taking him in an inch at a time.

They both groaned.

"So good," Kitty murmured, rising up slightly to sink down over him again, her peaked nipples brushing against the light dusting of his chest hair as she did. She hadn't realised it would come in handy quite this way, but as Kitty rose up again she sent a prayer of thanks to her gym instructor who insisted on all those squats. House put his hands under her ass to help her move and together they forged a rhythm that had them both panting. The friction from him moving inside her was one of the most blissful feelings Kitty had ever experienced.

"_Jesus Christ_!" House's gasped blasphemy let Kitty knew he was close. She starting moving faster and squeezing her internal muscles around him on every up stroke. It took concentration but she could tell from the way his fingers suddenly dug into her that her efforts were appreciated.

He threw his head back, eyes screwed shut, his hips jerking up into her as he began to lose control. She felt the moment he lost it, his body froze just as she sank down and he jerked up, buried as deep inside her as he could possibly reach. He pushed into her again and again, grunting with effort on each thrust, before falling back on the bed, his chest heaving.

Kitty was close, so close her thighs were already trembling, her breath coming in gasps. He was still solid inside her so she decided to take advantage of that and kept moving on him, reaching down to rub her clit in hard, tight circles that she knew would bring her to the peak fast.

House opened his eyes when he felt her move again and his eyes widened. "Oh, fuck that's hot," he whispered, grasping one of her breasts. He squeezed, hard, matching the rhythm with which she stroked herself.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on the sensations assaulting her; his hand on her breast; the hairiness of his thighs along her smooth calves where they pressed against him; the obscene wetness from both his semen and her juices where they were joined. He pushed into her with what little strength he had left, helping her along, and with that Kitty felt her muscles seize. She cried out, unable to keep the noise inside, moving and rubbing to prolong her peak, unaware of anything except the waves of pleasure spreading through her.

Finally she felt the waves turn into ripples, the overwhelming intensity subsided and she went still. She opened her eyes and was immediately dizzy, the room spinning around her head. She reached out a hand blindly to steady herself and House grabbed her around the wrist.

"Dizzy," she muttered.

He sat up and wrapped one arm around her, and with his other he grasped her thigh and pulled her off him. He drew her body close to his and lay down again, pushing her to his side so her head rested flat on the bed.

"Better?"

Kitty nodded. She was sure anyone would have been dizzy after that; her brain was still barely functioning.

After thirty seconds or so of letting her rest, House nudged her. "You conscious?"

"Barely." She felt his body tense.

"Anything we need to be concerned about?"

Kitty was touched; she hadn't considered he might actually be worried about her health. "No, sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. I'm fine. I think I'm on the cusp of a 'come coma' but other than that I'm fine."

House chuckled and tightened his arm around her for a moment.

Kitty was warm everywhere her body was in contact with his, but the rest of her was rapidly cooling down and her wet hair was becoming uncomfortable. She sat up with a struggle, her thighs protesting the workout they'd been given. She shuffled up onto the pillows while House got up and limped around to the other side of the bed, grabbing himself a Vicodin as he did so.

He settled down in bed next to her, gathering her up in his arms in a way that Kitty hadn't expected. But she wasn't complaining. He was warm and resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart was unbelievably soothing. She was asleep before she thought much further.


	14. Chapter 14

When they woke on Sunday it was almost lunchtime. They lay in bed quietly, touching each other, learning each other's bodies, but in a relaxing, soothing way, not one designed to inflame passion. House was both a little regretful and a little relieved. The activities of the past twenty-four hours had been more than he'd got up to in a long while and he wasn't sure he could do it again. He didn't want the embarrassment of starting something only to find he wasn't "up" to the challenge, so he didn't push. He made a mental note to get Wilson to prescribe him some Viagra – it would be a hellish conversation to have with his best friend, but worth it if it meant he could continue to have sex with Kitty like they had the previous night. And there wasn't anyone else he could ask unless he went to a clinic somewhere and they'd bother him with the whole medical history crap.

Kitty eventually got up and made them both coffee and toast, bringing it back to bed. "Just as well we showered last night. Otherwise this bed could be very rank."

"It already smells like a bordello in here," House answered.

"Know what one smells like then, do you?" Kitty asked archly.

House figured it probably wasn't a good idea to go anywhere near the topic of paying for sex. "This bed smells like sweat and sex with a faint whiff of beer and pizza. I kinda like it."

Kitty snorted a little laugh which House took as agreement.

She stretched and House wondered if she was about to get out of bed. But instead she turned and snuggled against him, and her feet – cold from going to the kitchen to make breakfast – tucked under his calves for warmth.

"Hey, your toes are like icicles," he protested.

"Crappy circulation," she said matter-of-factly. "It's the price you pay for getting breakfast in bed. Deal with it."

"Is there any pizza left?" House asked.

Kitty shrugged. "Dunno. Why – still hungry?"

"Thought I could introduce you to my personal speciality, one-hundred-and-one ways with cold pizza."

"Sounds revolting."

"You'd be surprised."

He paused for a moment taking a sip of the coffee she'd made, but then resumed talking in an off-hand tone. "Speaking of revolting, you've had raw, undiluted baby juice running down the inside of your thighs twice now. Should we have that conversation?"

"What?" Kitty sounded genuinely confused and slightly appalled.

"You know, the thing that brought us together in the first place. Unplanned pregnancy."

"Oh." She frowned. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?"

"Frequently."

She shook her head, smiling slightly. "Well, I hardly think it's remotely possible anyway, but I'm on the pill. And on the other side of things, you don't have anything to worry about. It's been a long time since I . . . and before that . . . I'm usually pretty careful. _Very_ careful. You bring out the reckless in me."

"You don't have anything to worry about from me either." House knew it wasn't necessary to articulate the particular terms of his sexual interactions with the paid help. They wouldn't play without a condom anyway, regardless of which particular orifice he was going to stick it.

They fell silent for a while. Unlike last night, today House was keenly aware of the elephant in the room and knew it had to be addressed. Now that he'd sated himself – for a while at least – his intellectual curiosity had resurfaced. He knew it was going to ruin this little cocoon of glowing, post-sex contentment, but, as always, his curiosity wasn't to be deterred.

"Although I'm not at all unhappy with the way things turned out, I actually came here yesterday to ask you more questions about Andrew," House said, trying to keep his voice casual. "I looked in—"

"What do you want to do today?" Kitty asked, interrupting, patently ignoring what he said. "I need to go to the grocery store and I was thinking of going to see the sculpture exhibition at New Hope, but the weather might not be—"

"Kitty!" House rolled over and pushed her away from him. He was annoyed by her ignoring him and, more vaguely, unsettled by images that had just invaded his mind at her words. Images of waking up next to her on a Sunday, an ordinary Sunday, and planning a trip to the grocery store or an outing to a park. Something about it was terrifyingly enticing.

"Of course we could always spend the day in bed," she said giving him a desperate, fake grin.

He could see the panic in her eyes, the desperation that he _not_ do this, that he leave it alone. But he couldn't and she had to know that.

"Kitty, I said last night that we could ignore everything until today. Well, now it's today." He stroked her arm as if calming an injured animal.

She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again her expression was resigned. She sat up a little in the bed and tucked the covers around herself protectively. He noted that she was careful in ensuring no part of her body touched his.

House sighed in frustration. He was sorry that she was upset, but he wasn't about to forget everything that had happened, everything that had brought them together in the first place. She held the answers to his questions. That was all there was to it.

"You told me on Friday that Andrew talked about me."

She gave a curt nod and stared straight, not turning her head to look at him.

"I need to know more about what he said."

"Why?"

"I went through that box of papers he left me. It was . . . interesting."

At that Kitty did turn her head to look at him. Her eyes held curiosity this time. Good, House thought. He needed her to want to understand this too. She'd ignored it and buried it for too long.

"Interesting how?" she asked.

"It was all kinds of stuff related to my life. Yearbooks. Journal articles. Newspaper clippings. Photos."

"Really? He'd been collecting them?"

"Looks like. Dating right back to when I was a child."

"I wonder if his family knew about it?"

"Me too. When do you think they found out I existed? Do you know if his wife knew about me back then?"

Kitty took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. She shook her head. "No, I don't think they did. Well, I'm pretty sure Miranda and Denis didn't. Rachael – I don't know." Kitty bit her lip, and paused, frowning in concentration. "Actually, now that I think about it, she might have."

"What makes you say that?"

"She . . . didn't like me."

"No kidding."

Kitty gave him a grim smile. "At first I guessed it was because she thought I was Andrew's mistress. I only met her a few times – after I first met him, Andrew invited me to a couple of functions his family attended as well. I went along thinking that they'd know why I was there, that they'd understand I was Andrew's . . . protégé. It wasn't a secret that he was funding my education and that he'd helped my mother. I thought they'd be kind of proud of him – you know, like I was a personal charity case."

"But they didn't see things that way?" House guessed.

"Miranda and Denis were polite at first, but then they simply ignored me. Despite the fact that we were all adults, I wondered if they saw me as a rival for their father's affections. You know, a 'child' he'd adopted despite having two of his own."

"And Rachael?"

"Rachael was blatantly rude. After inviting me to a couple of things with his family, Andrew stopped. I was never sure if Rachael made him stop inviting me or if he just realised that it was never going to work. And I wouldn't have gone if he'd asked anyway; it was too uncomfortable."

"So why do you think Rachael knew about _me_?"

"She said something funny to me one night. I don't remember exactly, but she said something about my mother – she was implying that my mother and Andrew had had an affair. At first I was baffled – Andrew never even _met_ my mother – but then I thought about it later. I wondered if she was insinuating that I was Andrew's daughter from another woman and that's why he was supporting me."

"But why do you think that meant she knew about his affair with _my_ mother?"

Kitty shrugged. "I don't have any concrete evidence. It was just the way she said it. I thought it was a strange conclusion for her to jump to – if you're going to be suspicious of a relationship like mine and Andrew's it's far more obvious to think that I was his mistress, isn't it? I mean, that's what you thought, wasn't it?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

House shrugged. _Of course he had_.

Kitty continued her train of thought, nibbling on one fingernail for a moment. "But perhaps it's a very easy conclusion to reach if it's not the first time your husband's done that to you. So perhaps Rachael had good reason to think that about me."

"Hmm." House thought Kitty's reasoning sounded logical. But then if that was the case, why had Rachael been so loving towards him at the will reading? There were still a lot of things about Andrew Barnes and his family that didn't make sense. "What else did he say about me?" House asked, changing the subject.

"I didn't know he had a box of things about you. But he was very proud of you. He knew a lot about your career and how successful you'd become at a young age. He kept telling me that you were world-famous in your field."

"You said he thought he'd ended up with the wrong son."

Kitty snorted. "Denis takes after his mother in both looks and attitude. He's fat, lazy and pretty slow on the uptake. I ended up doing the graduate course that Andrew had tried to get Denis to do, only Denis dropped out after one semester. I still remember how proud Andrew was when I graduated," she added quietly. A little smile played on her face for a moment, then she shook her head as if to clear the memory and returned to her recollections of Denis. "Andrew tried to give him a role in the business, but Denis messed up everything he was put in charge of. From what I understand he's mostly involved in the Barnes Trust now, the charitable side of Andrew's business. I imagine Andrew put him there because he can't stuff the family fortune up too badly when he's only dealing with the Trust."

"And Miranda?" House felt a strange sensation when he remembered the people they were talking about were his half-brother and -sister.

"I don't really know what Miranda does – I'm not sure she does anything besides shop and have manicures and go to parties. I've always been under the impression that she's not a well woman. I don't know what she suffers from, but Andrew always said she was delicate."

"Hmm." House rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, thinking everything through. It was entirely possible the conclusion he'd reached at Wilson's was correct: Andrew Barnes had taken in Kitty to try to substitute her for the son he _wished_ he had. But he wasn't sure how to say that to her. Could he really turn to her and blurt out: _Kitty, I think Andrew Barnes only messed with your life because he couldn't be part of mine_.

_Jesus, what a price she'd had to pay. _

"He really made a difference to your life, didn't he?"

She nodded. "He paid all my mother's medical bills – they would have been six figures alone – my tuition, the rent for the apartment I lived in while I was at school, all that."

House was confused. Andrew Barnes as a man didn't make sense in his head. On the one side was a man who freely gave time and money to charities, who followed the life of his estranged son at a distance, and who rescued a sad, struggling girl and helped her get on her feet. And on the other was a lecherous old man who took pleasure from humiliating a woman he'd treated as a daughter.

"So you felt you owed him."

She nodded. "I told myself that it wasn't much to ask, for everything he gave me. Of course now I . . ." She sighed. "I don't know. Would I have made a different decision if I could go back now?" She looked up at the ceiling as if it held the answers. "I honestly have no idea."

"What exactly did Andrew make you do to repay him?" House sat up in bed and looked down at her, putting one hand on her chin to force her to look at him. "I want to know."

"What?" She shook her head. "No, you don't need details."

"What did he make you do?" House repeated, more forcefully. "Don't you get it? That asshole who made you do those things was my father. I have to know!"

Kitty sat up in bed facing him. This time House was too wrapped up in the conversation to notice her naked breasts.

"You don't want to know, Greg." In contrast to his anger, her voice was quiet, controlled. "You'll never be able to un-know it. I don't want you to know those things about me. I don't want to be that person for you."

House opened his mouth to protest but then closed it again. Perhaps he didn't really want to know. Knowing exactly what kind of acts his father had asked her to perform wouldn't necessarily help in understanding why it had happened in the first place. And he didn't want those images in his mind the next time he had Kitty's naked body writhing beneath him.

Slowly he nodded. "Okay."

They sat in bed, staring at each other for a while. House had no idea what was going through her mind, but he was feeling a miserable churning of guilt, disgust for Andrew Barnes, and confusion about his growing feelings for Kitty. As usual, he hadn't really thought past the point of getting the information he needed and getting the lay that he needed. Now that he had both of those things, he wasn't sure what to do. The information still needed to be sifted through and pieced together and the sex had only whet his appetite for more. Soon. And lots of it, as soon as he got that prescription organised.

Then he remembered. He was the Chair of the PRC for the next year. Kitty was its Executive Director. It wasn't how he usually liked to do things, but he had time to work this out – year if he needed it. Of course, it would drive him mad if he didn't figure it out long before then, but the point was it didn't need to be solved right now, _today_.

He smiled and lay back on the bed.

Kitty cleared her throat. "I think it's time for you to go home," she said hesitantly.

He turned to look at her and she pulled the covers up to hide her naked chest. "Why?" he asked. _Hadn't she just been talking about spending the day together? _He was disappointed; he'd just starting thinking about what he _could_ do to her without a Viagra.

"Please?" He voice shook a little. "This has been a very big weekend for me, Greg. It's stirred up a lot; I just need some time . . . on my own."

"Yeah, okay." House knew he'd see her tomorrow. Because he'd decided he would. He got out of bed with a groan, his leg letting him know that he'd done more physical activity than it appreciated. He slowly got dressed, not caring that she was watching him.

As he sat down on the bed to put on his shoes, Kitty reached over and put a hand on his back.

"Greg?" she asked softly.

He shoved his foot into the shoe and turned to her.

Her face was the picture of uncertainty. She might be asking him to leave, but he knew that she was just as keen for a repeat performance as he was.

He didn't answer her, just put his hand to the back of her head and brought her head to his for a kiss. Her lips parted under his instantly and her tongue pressed against his, telling him so much without words.

House let the kiss go on, but pulled back when he felt his pulse begin to rise. He didn't need to get all heated up just as he was about to walk out.

He stood up and walked towards the door.

"See you tomorrow, Kitty," he said softly, and then let himself out.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Any resemblance to any authors living or dead is purely coincidental.... (lol)

* * *

-

First thing on Monday morning House had to push thoughts of Kitty and Andrew Barnes to the back his mind for a little while. Cuddy was waiting for him, a file in hand. House hadn't even put his backpack down before she began to speak.

"Patient, a thirty-five year old woman, admitted to the ER with an irregular heartbeat, vomiting, and double vision,"

House shrugged. "Sounds boring."

"It's KL Rawlings," Cuddy said meaningfully.

"So?" House had no idea what that meant.

"You know, _Henry Baker and the Magic Dragon?_"

"What are you on this morning Cuddy? Did someone slip you a roofie over the weekend?"

"The world-famous _children's author_," Cuddy said, getting annoyed. "Jeez, your pop culture references are limited to television only, aren't they?" She slapped the file down on House's desk. "She collapsed in the middle of a book signing. The media are all over it and we've got a group of fans camped out the front. She specifically asked for you – said she's been unwell for months and no one has been able to work out why."

"And this is my problem why, exactly?"

"You don't have to care, you just have diagnose her," Cuddy snipped. She walked to the door. "And her liver and kidney function have started to decline."

House sighed, realising this was one of those instances where he didn't have any choice. He gathered his team assigned various missions: Taub to take a history, Thirteen to check the woman's hotel room and Foreman he left with paperwork, just for the fun of it.

House did some research online and decided on the next lot of tests he'd run. Of course, he'd wait for the team to report back, but it was highly unlikely anything they'd say would change in mind. Then he checked his email – smiling when he saw there was one from Kitty. He clicked to open it, a little too eager and then a little too disappointed when he discovered it was all PRC business. It was a reminder about the fundraiser on Friday night and something about making a speech that he instantly decided to ignore.

He replied, flirty and dirty, just to see what she'd do.

Before any reply appeared, the team returned and they convened in the conference room to discuss the patient.

"She's now got tremors in her hands," Taub reported, "muscle weakness, and a headache she says the medication she's been given is having no effect on. She _does_ keep asking when she's going to get to see you," Taub added as if that was strange enough to warrant being listed as a symptom. "She has this weird way of talking – as if she's the queen and everything is a speech. She keeps saying 'when will Dr House grace us with his presence', talking about herself in the first person as if she's at a podium."

House puffed up his chest. "Oh good, she read the pamphlet I had printed. That's just the usual level of adoration I require," he said. "You guys could learn a thing or two—"

"Nothing out of the ordinary in her hotel room," Thirteen interrupted, getting back to the patient. "She does travel with a teddy bear, which I guess is a little odd."

"The woman has made millions getting adults to read children's books about a talking dragon and a mischievous pixie," Foreman scoffed. "_She's_ a little odd."

"A talking dragon?" House asked, raising his eyebrows.

Foreman shrugged and held up a brightly coloured novel. "Seeing as I didn't have anything else to do." Everyone laughed, and Foreman bristled defensively. "There're actually quite a lot of adult references in it."

House reeled off a list of tests and sent them off to do his bidding, keen to get back to his emails and find out if Kitty had replied. It was early enough in the diagnosing process that no one had any particular objections to his planned course of action, so they all rose to go off and do his bidding.

"House – got time for lunch?" Wilson dodged the outgoing fellows as he made his way into the conference room.

"Nope," House said, giving him a cheerful smile.

"It wasn't really a request," Wilson said firmly. He looked behind him to make sure the other doctors were out of hearing distance. "I haven't heard from you since Friday night. Remember? You appeared with all that stuff from your father, babbled on about a stripper and then disappeared! I was worried – you didn't return my calls."

"Oh yeah." House shrugged. He knew Wilson had called, but he'd erased the messages and promptly forgotten about them.

"_Oh yeah?_" Wilson echoed sarcastically. "Come on, I want to hear more about what it all means. Not to mention the fact that you left all that stuff at my apartment."

"I've just got to check my emails." House quickly went to the computer and, disappointed not to find any reply from Kitty, decided to take Wilson up on his lunch offer.

House was sure that whatever Wilson wanted to know, their lunch didn't give him the answers. House was evasive and vague. He didn't say anything about Kitty, mostly because he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted Wilson to know about that just yet. And he didn't say much about the puzzle involving his father because . . . Well. Wilson should know House better by now. When he was working on a mystery there were times he needed to talk it out, to get feedback. Then there were times he needed to internalise it, let it mull around in his brain for a while.

That was where he was up to with it all now.

So there'd be no answers for Wilson just yet.

When House and Wilson returned to their respective offices, House's team were waiting for him. They didn't even wait for him to be fully in the room before Taub began speaking.

"She's hallucinating. Seeing characters from her books – pixies – in the corner of the room. Says they're talking to her, giving her cakes."

"Pixies with cake? Cool," House said, flopping down into a chair. "I'll have what she's having."

"She also seems to believe that the room is made of gingerbread," Foreman added, "and that everything in it is edible. We've had to restrain her to stop her from eating the sheets."

"Her tachycardia can be explained by low potassium," Thirteen said, reading from a sheet of test results. "She's also got low phosphate and low magnesium."

"Whipples?" Taub suggested.

"Crohn's disease?" Thirteen countered. "It'd explain why she complains it's been chronic."

"What about Bartter's syndrome?" Forman asked.

"Which would be a fine idea if she was an infant," Taub said nastily.

"There have been rare cases in adults."

House sucked in a breath and considered the options. They were all ideas he'd thought of too. "Okay, go test for all of them. And give her something for the hypokalemia before her heart stops."

The three doctors got up to go run their respective tests.

"Oh, House?" Foreman stopped on the way out of the room.

"There was a guy here earlier hanging around outside your office, said he was looking for you."

"What guy?"

"I don't know. A fat guy. I told him you were at lunch and he said he'd come back later. Cuddy came along and she seemed to know him."

"Hmph." House wasn't really listening. He had absolutely no idea why his patient had begun hallucinating. He needed to give this case more attention than he'd first thought.

-

* * *

-

Cuddy appeared in his office doorway a couple of hours later.

"House, I need to talk to you."

"About what? Don't worry, if you're here to check up on magic dragon lady, my minions are running tests as we speak."

Cuddy sat down opposite him and waved a hand in the air. "Oh yes, I know that's all under control. No, it's about something else."

House sat back in his chair slightly concerned. This look from Cuddy never meant anything particularly good.

"One of the hospital's donors is acting very weird," she began.

"And I should care about this?" House asked flippantly.

"It's something connected to the PRC."

House grimaced. "Talk to Kitty. I don't care."

"Kitty?"

"Catherine Brecht."

Cuddy frowned, but clearly decided she didn't want to pursue it. "No, I think it's do with you. Personally. Do you know someone called Denis Barnes?"

That made House pay attention. He leaned forward narrowed his eyes, peering at Cuddy over his glasses. "Why?"

"He was here today, looking for you."

"What did he want?"

Cuddy looked confused. "I don't know. He said he came to the hospital to look around, but he made it clear he was keen to see you."

"Why would anyone want to 'look around' a hospital?"

"The Barnes Trust is one of the hospital's major donors – to oncology primarily. Denis's father died a few weeks ago and Denis is the new head of the Trust. I think he's checking out how the funds are spent. They also fund the PRC."

"Yeah, I know," House muttered bitterly.

"So House, I'm worried that he's here because they're rethinking their donation. If we lose their funding it would be a big hole for me to fill."

"And?"

Cuddy threw her hands up in frustration. "_See?_ Now do you understand why I thought this whole PRC thing was a bad idea? If they're funding the PRC and withdrawing funding from Princeton Plainsboro I'm going to be furious. And if I find out you've had anything to do with—"

"Don't have a stroke, Cuddy," House said evenly.

"I have every right to be concerned."

"I'm almost positive Denis Barnes's visit has absolutely nothing to do with funding."

"What?"

"He's my . . ." House gave a heart-felt sigh. "He's my brother. Half-brother, to be precise."

"_Half-brother?_" Cuddy gasped.

Quickly, House filled Cuddy in on the visit from the lawyer, the bequest from Andrew Barnes, meeting his family, the requirement that he take on Chairmanship of the PRC. He left out any mention of Kitty.

"House, that's astonishing," Cuddy said when he had finished. "And now I understand why Denis was asking me all those questions."

"What sort of questions?" House asked, wondering what exactly it was that Denis Barnes would want to know about him.

"Oh, they were weird questions to come out of the blue, but now I know this, they make perfect sense. He was asking me what sort of person you were, stuff about your background, that sort of thing."

"What did you tell him?"

"Don't worry, I didn't tell him anything he couldn't find out from the internet." Cuddy gave him a gentle smile. "But House, I think this is really nice. Denis clearly just wants to get to know you. He wants to know more about his _brother_. I think you should make time to get to know him too."

"Yeah, right," House muttered.

"But it's—"

Cuddy was interrupted when House's fellows came rushing into his office. "House, she's starting to become jaundiced. Her liver's failing and she's anaemic."

"No more time to chat, Cuddy. Our little pixie friend's going downhill fast."

House stood up, glad for the opportunity to escape Cuddy's no-doubt well-meant concern.

"We'll talk later," she said, giving him a chirpy little smile.

"Sure," he muttered.

"So, what's going on?" House addressed the team.

"There's blood in her urine; we're going to have to start her on dialysis," Thirteen said.

"Any chance she's been in an earthquake on her travels?" House asked, his brain searching for new reasons to explain the patient's symptoms.

"You're thinking Rhabdomyolysis?" Taub asked.

"She's still hallucinating too, we think. She keeps asking to see you, but then she also keeps asking to see Willy Wonka," Thirteen said. "But otherwise she seems articulate and lucid."

"Did anyone check her blood sugar?" House asked a new idea starting to form.

"No."

"Is she suicidal?"

"Nothing she's said so far would indicate—" Taub began.

House turned to Thirteen. "Were there any syringes in her hotel room?"

"No, but the maid had just serviced the room, so if they were in the trash I wouldn't have seen them."

"I think it's time I went to see the little pixie queen myself." House grabbed his cane and headed for the patient's room.

He opened the door with a dramatic flourish, startling the nurse who was preparing the patient for dialysis.

"I'm Dr House and you're an idiot," he said.

The patient struggled to sit up a little. "Dr House. At last." She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, and House remembered what Taub had reported, that everything she said seemed like an official speech. "When we first fell sick we asked our doctors for a solution. But like the mist, they hedged and weaved. I came to the kingdom of the new state of Jersey and at the castle they told me to see the king at the chocolate factory. And now I am here in the gingerbread room and have granted you an audience. You must understand that our subjects will be upset that the dragon had to go away, but I had no choice. It was him or the trolls and the trolls can be _very persuasive_ as you well know." She gave him a conspiratorial wink and chuckled slightly.

House looked at his fellows who, like him, were all looking stunned.

"It's the poison, you see," she added. "I must take the poison or they'll make me eat all the cakes. The little swords they fill with poison and my veins drink it like sherry."

House was impressed by her presentation, as completely bizarre as it was. "Well," he said finally, "that was—"

"_Weird_," Thirteen finished for him. "Dr House, can we talk to you outside for a moment?"

House would usually not bother about discussing a case in front of the patient, but something in the expression on the faces of the three doctors around him told him it might be a good idea this once.

As soon as the door was closed behind them House shook his head. "That was creative. I hope her books are better than that because—"

Foreman spoke up urgently. "House, that's almost exactly what she said to us before. Word for word. Only she said it better then, to you. It's like she was rehearsing earlier."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, either she's having a psychotic episode or she's been practicing, waiting for you to come and see her."

"She _has_ been asking when you were going to come to treat her," Taub recalled.

House grimaced. One disadvantage of being such a well-known diagnostician was that he occasionally attracted the odd loony, hell-bent on proving him wrong or being his next challenge.

"Has anyone checked her blood sugar?" House asked again.

"I'll go do it now," Thirteen volunteered.

"Go do that. Then give her glucose. She's overdosed on insulin. She's most likely been giving herself slowly increasing doses over the past few weeks and she finally reached overload. I'm guessing she's suicidal." House turned to walk away before turning around and adding, as if it was an afterthought, "Oh and you might want to call for psych consult. That woman's nuttier than a fruit loop."

"Why?" Taub asked.

"Why what?"

"Why do you think she's suicidal?"

"How should I know?" House said, irritated. "Maybe she just wanted to meet the pixies for real."

House was faintly annoyed as he made his way back to his office. The whole day had been wasted, he felt. He sat down at his desk and waggled the mouse to activate the screen. He checked his email – a reply from Kitty. In response to his lengthy, lusty email she'd replied with two lines: _My place 7.30, bring food. I don't want pizza again. _

House chuckled. He quickly typed a reply. _No, MY place at 7.30, I'll have food. I'll show you my bath. 221B Baker._ He added the address in case she'd forgotten.

He checked his watch – it was only three-thirty. Four hours to kill. He sighed and looked at his cluttered desk, wondering what to do to make the day go faster. Sitting on top of the clutter, clearly only recently delivered, was a messenger envelope. Figuring it was probably yet more stuff from the PRC – he'd been receiving reams of paperwork from their office daily – he almost ignored it. But then some niggling insight caused him to pause and pick it up.

He opened it and drew out a single sheet of paper, the words written in neatly inked letters that belied the sinister nature of the message.

_Kitty Brecht is a gold-digging whore. Lucky for you, her heart is already broken._

Puzzled, and more than a little concerned, House examined the envelope further, turning it over to find the sender's address square blank. As he turned the envelope over again, a clipping from a magazine fell out. It was old, slightly crumpled and yellowed around the edges – it was a photograph, clipped without a caption or any surrounding text. It showed a group of men in suits laughing, all holding beers and looking relieved and happy – House might have guessed they were celebrating the closing of a deal. He realised that the man on the far left was his father, Andrew Barnes. Next to him, with his arm around her shoulders, laughing along, was Kitty. She was wearing a short red dress that didn't display much cleavage, but revealed almost all of those luscious legs. She looked young, her hair was longer and wavy, her expression had some kind of innocence around it, and yet her eyes told another story; they betrayed a darkness, a weariness with the world.

House stared at the photo for a long time trying to see if it would communicate with him, tell him the story of what was happening. It could easily be interpreted in so many ways. And yet whoever had written that note clearly wanted House to see Kitty as a "whore", and from a certain perspective the photo could be seen that way.

It didn't add up.

Why would someone send it to him in the first place? Who would send it? House remembered Foreman saying that Denis Barnes had been hanging around his office earlier that day. But why would he risk delivering something like this personally?

House grabbed his things, returned the paper and photo to the envelope and stuffed it into his backpack along with some of the files he'd received from the PRC. He needed to go home, pour himself a whisky, and see if he could get to the bottom of this. But first he had to make one quick stop.

-

* * *

-

Wilson looked up from his paperwork as the door opened, not surprised to see House striding in. He'd been acting so weirdly over lunch, Wilson had been sure there was more to what was going on and that he'd hear about it soon enough. He usually did.

"I need a script," House said quickly. "Viagra and don't ask any questions."

Wilson spluttered. That had been about the last thing he'd expected House to say. "Viagra?"

"Or Levitra. I don't really have a preference."

"You're having sex?"

"I am over eighteen, dad, don't have a cow," House whined.

Too shocked to know what else to do, Wilson opened his desk drawer and reached for his prescription pad.

"Catherine?" Wilson asked with a raised eyebrow as he quickly filled out the piece of paper. She was the only woman he'd seen even vaguely in House's orbit, so while it was a guess, Wilson was fairly sure he was right.

"I promise I'll be careful."

House avoided the question, Wilson noted, but that simply confirmed his suspicions.

"I'm happy for you, House. She seems like a nice person. But are you sure it's a good idea getting involved with her given your position on the PRC?" He held out the prescription.

House grabbed the piece of paper out of Wilson's hand and stuffed it quickly into his pocket. "Business is business. Mind-melting pleasure is mind-melting pleasure."

Wilson winced. It was enough he had to write out the prescription. He didn't want details.

"Well, be good," Wilson said, putting on a pretend lecturing tone. "And by that, I mean both be _good_ and _be good_. Have safe sex. Take care of her. Be nice for a change."

House pulled a goofy face and was gone before Wilson had a chance to say anything further.

Wilson sat there a moment longer, thinking things through. He recalled the hypothetical scenario House had gone through on Friday night – Wilson was almost positive House had been talking about his biological father. And there was apparently a stripper the man had both supported and abused. Wilson sat up straighter as a sudden thought occurred to him.

_Could it possibly be Catherine Brecht?_

Wilson thought about the times he'd met her at fundraisers, and he remembered meeting with her a year or so ago over a study into pain relief for ovarian cancer. She was smart, organised, professional and, for a non-doctor, had a surprisingly good understanding of medicine.

_A stripper? No way._

He shook his head and let out a little snort at the ridiculousness of the very idea. She was hot though. Wilson had to admit he was just the teensiest bit jealous.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Thanks everyone for your lovely comments! Sorry I haven't had time to reply personally recently -- travel has kept me busy and now jet lag is keeping me tired!

* * *

-

At seven, House ordered Indian food to be delivered. He had no idea what Kitty liked, so he ordered several dishes, figuring he never minded having leftovers. Kitty arrived at the same time as the delivery guy, giving House a preoccupied kiss on the lips when he opened the door. She had her BlackBerry in her hand and was frowning at it.

"Want to eat?" he asked.

"Sure. I just have to deal with a couple of emails."

House messily served out a couple of plates of food, annoyed by her distracted air. He handed her the food and she gave him a grateful smile.

"Thanks, I love Indian." She finished typing a few more words, hit send, and then put her BlackBerry to one side.

"It's lamb rogan josh, chickpea marsala and chicken vindaloo."

"Yum." She began eating heartily. "I've had such a busy day, no time for lunch," she explained between mouthfuls. "This week is going to be hell."

"Why?"

She frowned at him. "Because of the fundraiser on Friday," she said, as if he should know all about it.

Which, he realised, he probably should. "Oh yeah, that."

"Did you read through the stuff I sent you today? I thought it would be useful material for your speech."

House looked away. There was no way he was making any speech, but he wanted to have sex later, so he figured there was no point bringing that up now. "No, I was busy today. Had a patient, actually it was this famous author—"

Kitty held up a hand as her phone rang. "Sorry." She answered it and got up from the sofa, pacing around in front of the windows as she went through an involved conversation about vegetarian meal requirements for Friday night.

House kept eating and turned the television on after a couple of minutes when her conversation showed no sign of ending any time soon. Kitty made an annoyed noise and frowned at the TV before walking down the corridor towards the bedroom. It was almost fifteen minutes before she returned.

She bent over and kissed him on the cheek before picking up her plate and sitting down again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get irritated. It's your place, of course you're allowed to turn on the TV. It's just I've been having issues with the hotel for Friday and that was the catering manager telling me that they have problems with the menu for vegetarians."

"And it can't wait until business hours tomorrow?" House was annoyed. He could watch TV and eat dinner on his own any night. It wasn't how he'd imagined this evening turning out.

"I don't know, Greg. When one of your patients is sick, can it wait until business hours?" she replied, just as terse as he'd been.

"Jeez, who got out of bed on the wrong side this morning?"

She frowned at him. "What's the matter with you?"

House sighed. He decided to change the subject, to move on to what seemed to be part two of the Andrew Barnes-Kitty Brecht puzzle. "I got this delivery at work today. Do you know anyone who would—"

Kitty's cell phone rang again.

She bit her lip and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I'll turn it off after this."

"Catherine Brecht." Kitty answered the phone, rising from the sofa and walking off down the corridor again. House overheard her laughing in a very forced way and then talking rapidly about table decorations. From what he could hear, something was silver when it should have been gold, and from the sounds of things this was _very bad_. He heard her finish up that call and then she yelled out to him.

"I just have to make one more call. Keep watching TV and I promise I won't be much longer."

He heard her begin talking again and he shook his head. This was definitely not what he had in mind. He knew that the mysterious delivery he'd received that day had to be sorted out, but he had somehow imagined that there would be a simple explanation for it. They'd discuss it, it would be resolved. And then they'd have sex. He hadn't taken any of his new prescription yet, and was glad of it. If anything could make him more annoyed than he already was, it would be sitting there watching TV, eating Indian food alone, with a hard-on going to waste as well.

House decided enough was enough and got up from the sofa, heading down the corridor. He found Kitty lounging on his bed, her back to him, shoes kicked off and feet tucked underneath her. She was frowning, talking cajolingly into her phone, trying to convince someone to do something or other – House wasn't paying attention. Instead, he crawled on the bed behind her, lifted her hair and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, being sure to rub his scratchy chin and top lip against her soft skin.

She gasped, interrupting her conversation for a moment, and shrugged her shoulders, trying to push him away. "I'm sorry – yeah, it's fine, keep going."

House wasn't impressed that he'd had such little impact so he reached a hand around and grasped her breast, squeezing it hard. She flinched and slapped his hand, but House was pleased to hear her wrap up her conversation.

"Sorry Donna, I'm going to have to go – can we catch up further about this tomorrow? If you could call the supplier and let me know how you go, that would be great. Thanks. Bye."

She turned around to look at him and was clearly unimpressed. "That was an important phone call, Greg."

"I'm important too." He pouted and reached out to put an arm around her waist.

Kitty stood up, away from his touch, and put her hands on her hips, clearly pissed. "Believe it or not, it's not all about you."

"Of course it's all about me," he joked, but then his smile faded.

He thought back to the patient that day. Foreman's words: _House, it's like she was practicing. Waiting for you._ House's brain rapidly made the connections. Andrew Barnes wasn't just substituting Kitty for the son he couldn't have. It wasn't just about bringing her into his life to fill whatever gap he thought existed because his biological son was being raised by John House.

_Kitty was wrong._

_It really _was_ all about him._

"He was _practicing_," House said, as realisation dawned.

"Who was? Practicing what?" Kitty asked, with a frustrated sigh.

"Andrew Barnes."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Kitty." He stared at her, realising that Andrew Barnes really had been as calculating and as callous as that. _His father_.

"What? I don't understand."

"Yesterday – you told me that Barnes took you to a few family events, right?"

"Yes," Kitty asked, clearly still uncertain where House was going.

"But his family rejected you."

"Yes."

"They rejected you, his chosen substitute daughter, someone whose qualities he admired but who wasn't an actual blood relation."

"Ye-e-s," Kitty said slowly.

House grimaced at her, realising he needed to take a couple of steps back in his reasoning to help her understand. He took in a deep breath and let it out. "You told me that Andrew said I was a successful doctor – driven and ambitious, right?"

Kitty nodded. "He really admired that in you." She sat down on the bed again, leaning against the bedpost. "Look, is this going to be another rehash of all that? Do you really need your ego stroked—"

House interrupted, not paying attention to her questions. "He said the same thing about you. Or if he didn't say it, he saw it."

She shrugged. "I guess. I always wanted to make something of my life. And when med school wasn't an opportunity any more, I did my best at grad school."

House reached out and grabbed her hand in both of his. "Kitty, don't you see it? You dropped into his life like a 'do over'."

"What?"

"He had a son, an ambitious and successful doctor, that wasn't part of his life. He was disappointed in the children that _were_ part of his life. And then you appeared, a med student, smart, ambitious and needy – all he had to do was help you out financially and you became indebted to him. Not only that, he could introduce you to his family, see how they reacted, see if they were prepared to accept you in their lives."

Kitty frowned at him, clearly mulling over his words. "So you think I was like a rehearsal? To see what would happen if he publicly claimed _you_ as part of his family?"

"Exactly."

Kitty seemed unconvinced. "But what about . . . ?"

She trailed off, but House knew what she was asking. "I don't know why he made you do the things he did. I don't have any explanation for that other than that he was an asshole."

"He did it because he could," Kitty said simply.

House nodded. "Yeah."

They stared at each other for a while.

"So I'm just a pale imitation of you?" Kitty asked with a shaky laugh.

"No, no. It's not that. It's just—"

"Yes. That's what you're saying. He wanted you. I was just his trial."

House could see Kitty was trying to hold herself together but the cracks were beginning to widen. Her hand trembled in his and her eyes filled with tears.

"Crap." House swore under his breath. He'd done it again – blurted out his solution without any regard for her feelings. He recalled the photo frame in Kitty's bedroom and remembered that for her – despite what he'd done – Andrew Barnes was as close as she'd come to having a father. And House had just told her their entire relationship was an artifice.

"I'm sure he loved you," House said, backtracking awkwardly, trying to make things better. He felt a surge of guilt, not on behalf of Andrew Barnes, but for doing this to her, making her understand the reality, while at the same time he was positive it was for the best. As hard as it was, she needed to know that if Andrew had been a real father figure, he wouldn't have shared her around.

Kitty shook her head. "No, not really, he didn't. You wouldn't make someone you loved give blow jobs to your friends, would you?" She looked at him accusingly.

House shrugged, knowing there was no need to answer.

"I knew he didn't love me," Kitty continued. "But I . . ." She trailed off.

"Kitty, I'm no expert on fatherhood. Shit, I've had two of them and they've both been crap in their own special ways. But the one thing I've learned is that it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter," he said firmly.

Kitty wrenched her hand out of House's grasp and stood up. Without making eye contact she twisted her feet back into her shoes and walked away.

At first House thought she might be going to the bathroom. Her face was pale; maybe she was going to throw up. But then she kept walking. He barely realised what she was going to do before he heard the front door open and close.

He sighed. He thought about going after her, but he didn't know what that would achieve and, he figured, if he was in her shoes he might just like some time alone. He got up from the bed and limped back into the living room, grabbing a beer from the kitchen along the way. He turned on the TV, hoping to find something mindless to distract him, wondering when – _if_ – she'd come back.

-

* * *

-

Kitty didn't know how far she walked. Only that at some point she'd turned around and begun retracing her steps. The night was freezing cold, not quite icy but not far off. She was only wearing the suit she'd worn to work and her heels. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was blindly aware of a blister on her toe and that the cold was beginning to sink inside to her bones, but mostly she was too blank to care.

The problem was, everything he had said made sense. Except for one thing.

_It did matter._

Andrew Barnes's role in her life had played a major part in the woman she'd become – everything from the job she had to the way she faced the world. Just when her life had been turned upside down, her mother leaving her forever, he'd been there to catch her before she fell. And Kitty knew she would have fallen far and hard. She'd have had no way to pay the debts of her mother's medical bills. She'd have had nowhere to live. No qualifications. No confidence. And most scarily of all, she'd have been alone.

Funny how that was the one thing she was most afraid of and yet she'd built herself a life based on it, never letting anyone close, never letting anyone see the real "Kitty" behind Catherine Brecht.

Until recently. And she needed him now so much it frightened her.

Before she knew it she found herself back in front of a green door, knocking hard, her numb knuckles vaguely registering the hurt.

It took him a while to answer the door and when he did he looked sleepy, but she could hear the television was still blaring away.

"Kitty?" He reached out and pulled her inside, eyes widening as she stepped into the light. "You're freezing." He looked her up and down, letting out an irritated sigh, before grasping her hand in his. "What, did you think hypothermia was fashionable this season? Coz I have to tell you, frostbite is _so_ last year." He kept up a silly monologue as he led her into the bedroom, leaving for a moment to head into the bathroom. Kitty heard the rush of water filling the bath and then he was back, quickly stripping her clothes off.

"Come on, get in the bath. It's only lukewarm, but if I make it any hotter you'll go do something stupid like have a heart attack on me. I know I promised to show you how to have a bath, but this wasn't quite what I had in mind."

He helped her like she was a child, getting her to sit in the bath and making sure her hands and feet stayed out of the water at first.

"I didn't want to be alone," Kitty said, between clenched teeth. She looked at him, sitting on the edge of the bath as he adjusted the temperature of the water, desperately hiding his concern for her behind a mask of silly banter. He cared about her, Kitty could tell, and more than anything that was what she needed. The bathwater might be warming her skin, but _he_ was what was warming her up from the inside.

"I know," he said quietly, meeting her eyes for the first time. She could see that he understood, he knew that he was wrong. Not about Andrew's motivation, but about how important it was. He looked away and instead ran his hands through the water and grasped her wrist. She realised he was checking her pulse and the capillary refill in her fingers and that it must be okay, because he nodded to himself.

"Let's warm it up a little." He adjusted the taps to add more hot water and let her hands and feet submerge.

The water still wasn't deep enough to cover her body and Kitty had begun to shiver. Somewhere in a rational part of her mind she realised that was a good thing, and the fact that she hadn't been shivering earlier was possibly cause for alarm. No wonder he'd looked so anxious when he'd opened the door. She must have been practically blue.

Kitty closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of the water, its heat soaking into her, and the muttered words from him. He kept up a steady stream of one-sided conversation about Tensing Norgay's secret Nepalese treatment for hypothermia, interspersed by regular reminders of what an idiot she was for getting herself into this state in the first place.

Every now and then he nudged her. "Kitty? You still with me?"

He seemed satisfied as long as she managed to mutter some kind of answer. Kitty knew she was fine, but she just didn't have the energy to struggle as she normally would, she couldn't find the strength to pull herself together. So she just lay there, cold and naked and broken, as exposed to another person as she'd ever been.

After a while Kitty began to feel more normal She realised that what had just happened wasn't just physical. Something had thawed within her, some frozen part of her that she hadn't realised was there. A block of ice that she'd carefully built around a section of heart was gone now, leaving room for something new. It was both wonderful and terrifying.

He nudged her again. "Come on, time to get out. I'll help you a little, but you need to hang on to the wall or something if you get dizzy, cause I don't want us both to fall over in here."

"Okay," she managed to say hoarsely; she was more than familiar with helping herself through dizzy spells. She got out of the bath with only a touch of light headedness, and dried herself off, then followed him into the bedroom, pulling back the covers and climbing under them. She watched mutely as he limped back out of the room and heard him turning off the TV and the lights. He returned, stripped off all his clothes and then climbed into bed, spooning her from behind. Of course, it wasn't really necessary, she was more than adequately warmed up now, but Kitty wasn't about to protest.

"You were wrong," she said quietly. "It does matter."

His body tensed and he took a deep breath in before releasing it in a rush and relaxing against her again. "Yeah, I know. But Kitty? It's a hell of a lot easier to pretend that it doesn't."

Kitty nodded.

They both lay in still silence for a long time before either of them fell asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning was a crisp, sunny fall day, the sky a deep cornflower blue and the sun made the overnight frost sparkle. House looked out the kitchen window as he waited for the coffee maker to do its thing and scratched his bearded chin. Kitty was still asleep and he wasn't sure whether or not to wake her. Her bloody BlackBerry had already beeped twice and he figured today was going to be another busy day for her, but he couldn't help feeling that she deserved a rest.

"G'morning," Kitty said sleepily, yawning as she walked into the kitchen. She'd pulled one of his t-shirts on over her naked body and it gave House plenty of opportunity to admire those spectacular pins of hers.

"Morning. How are you?"

"All good. My toe hurts, but otherwise good." She hopped on one leg to show House the huge red blister on her little toe.

House simply raised an eyebrow. "You will go running marathons in your stilettos."

"Yeah, I know." Kitty shrugged, putting her foot back on the floor. "Coffee ready yet?"

"Gimme a break, it's early."

"Are you kidding? It's seven-thirty. I'm already going to be late for work."

"Your phone's been going off," House said, gesturing to where her purse sat in the living room.

"Already? Jeez." She sighed heavily. "This week is going to suck."

"So it would probably be better if we slept at your place this week, yeah?" House said, his tone deliberately light. "I mean, your place is closer to your office and if you've got this stupid fundraiser on Friday night—"

House was prevented from speaking by Kitty stepping up to him and rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his mouth. It was a gentle kiss, sweet and loving, and House returned it with every inch of his being.

When she stepped away he looked at her for a moment, trying to read the expression in her eyes. He was both gratified and slightly afraid by what he saw there, so he turned away and began pouring them both coffees.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said. "I can't make any promises, of course, if I get a patient sometimes I don't even come home, but otherwise . . . Oh, and I don't cook. It's takeout or I will occasionally stop at the grocery store if I'm given a precise list of instructions."

He could see Kitty was holding in a smile. "I understand," she said, just barely keeping a straight face.

"And next week, once the fundraiser's over, we sleep here." He handed her a mug of coffee.

She nodded. "Absolutely."

They both took sips from their cups, looking at each other from over the rims, both with the same expressions. _Could they do this? Make it work? _Both of them were desperate to try.

-

* * *

-

Wilson flinched slightly when Cuddy walked into his office. He wasn't sure yet whether she'd forgiven him for the House/PRC debacle, even though together they'd pushed it smoothly through the last board meeting.

"Wilson, have you got a minute?"

No, she didn't seem angry, Wilson thought. She wouldn't ask that if she was just here to lecture.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Do you know the real reason House took the job at the PRC?"

"Um . . ." Wilson wasn't sure what to say. House hadn't exactly said that the information about his biological father was a secret, but knowing how private House was, Wilson could guess he wouldn't like it to become a topic of discussion.

"He told me," Cuddy added.

"Oh, right. About his family?" Wilson asked.

Cuddy nodded.

"Yeah. Quite a revelation, isn't it? He's having a couple of big weeks on the emotional front – a new family and a new girlfriend."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "A new girlfriend?"

_Oops_. Wilson realised he probably shouldn't have said that. But oh well, it was done now. "Yeah, Catherine Brecht from the PRC. I'd say he's getting serious about his work there, but I don't think it's the research as much as the hot blonde that has his attention."

Cuddy fell silent for a while, seemingly considering Wilson's words. Eventually she nodded. "This is good. It's a good thing. He's getting out there, doing new things, spending time with a woman. It's good."

Wilson couldn't help but think there was a hint of a question in Cuddy's statement. "Yes, it's good," he confirmed. "I think he's really keen on her."

"Why?"

"Because he's hardly said a thing about her."

Cuddy gave a soft laugh. "Yeah, that'd be right."

"I'm not sure he's that interested in his new family, though." Wilson still hadn't been able to understand House's reaction to the box of memorabilia from his biological father.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. Did you realise that House's biological father was Andrew Barnes?"

"Why does that name ring a bell?" Wilson asked.

"The Barnes Trust – it's a significant donor to the hospital – to oncology."

Wilson nodded. "Of course. Wow. Small world."

Cuddy smiled wryly. "Since Andrew Barnes's death, his son Denis has become head of the trust. He called me and came to visit and I thought it was all to do with the funding, but then House told me his story and I realised – Denis is interested in trying to get to know House."

"I don't think House is interested in getting to know Denis," Wilson said warningly.

"I know. But sometimes House is too cautious for his own good. Not when it comes to medicine," Cuddy added quickly, "but in his personal life. What harm can it do to get to know his half-brother a little better?"

Wilson caught the hint of conspiracy in Cuddy's voice. "What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing too dramatic. It's just . . . well; I've invited Denis and his partner to join us at the PRC fundraiser on Friday night as guests of the hospital. I was thinking that it might be nice if they 'accidentally on purpose' ended up on the same table with House and had a chance to chat. You know – it'll be a low-pressure situation, plenty of other people around, no drama if conversation flags because they'll be surrounded by other people."

Wilson began to nod as Cuddy outlined her plan. It sounded harmless enough. Mind you, House had a way of turning even the mildest situation into a crisis, but Wilson couldn't see any huge flaws in the idea.

"Yeah, I guess that might work."

"And I'll get Catherine to sit with us too. We can just pretend that's a coincidence if he's being all coy about their relationship, but if she means a lot to him, then it might be helpful if she was nearby."

Wilson shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so."

"I'll call her now, shall I?" Cuddy raised her eyebrows at him and flipped open her cell phone. "Catherine? It's Lisa Cuddy from Princeton Plainsboro. Yes. Now, about the fundraiser on Friday night . . . yes, we still want three tables. I was hoping you might join me as my guest on our table. Seeing as Dr House is to be introduced as the new Chairman, it makes sense that the PRC's Executive Director is there at the invitation of Princeton Plainsboro."

She paused and gave Wilson a conspiratorial wink as she obviously listened to whatever the other woman was saying.

Cuddy nodded. "Yes, yes, I can do that for you, no problem. That's great. Wonderful. Okay, well, I'll see you on Friday." She flipped her phone shut and gave Wilson a grin. "All sorted."

-

* * *

-

For House, the next few days passed without incident and, without patient. He had an easy time of it, clocking in a few hours in the clinic, surfing the web, planning an elaborate hoax on Wilson that was spoiled at the last minute by Taub.

And, as promised, he spent each night at Kitty's house. Every evening they spent together they forged new and ever-more comfortable routines. House found himself thinking of Stacy more than he had in years, not in a longing way, but in more of a fond, occasionally melancholy way. Probably because she was the last woman he'd spent intimate time with, the way he was now with Kitty. Silly things, like fighting for the sink when they were brushing their teeth, his claiming of the remote control, and even her scolding him for leaving a wet towel on the bed, all made him remember what it had been like to share his life with someone else.

He'd only known Kitty for just over a week, but it was already longer than it had taken for him to ask Stacy to move in with him.

_Once bitten twice shy, as they say. _

Still, House was sure he wanted Kitty around. Maybe it would take him two weeks this time.

They'd avoided any further conversations about Andrew Barnes. House figured they were both equally relieved about that. He wondered if he was being premature if he closed that particular file in his mind, after all, things seemed to be working out fine. Yes, they'd had to dance to Andrew Barnes' tune, but with all that had happened, House wasn't all that unhappy with how things had turned out.

However that was until House arrived at his office on Friday – the morning of the PRC fundraiser – and found another messenger envelope on his desk, identical to the one that had arrived on Monday. He picked it up quickly and opened it, cursing himself under his breath for forgetting about the previous one. He remembered putting it in his backpack and then taking it out at home. He'd probably put it on his desk there and in the drama surrounding his realisation about Andrew Barnes and Kitty's subsequent near-hypothermia it had simply been lost in the clutter. And he'd spent the past few days at her place, so he hadn't even seen it to remind him.

He tore off the strip to open the cardboard envelope and once again a single piece of paper fell out.

_Kitty Brecht is a cat burglar who stole Andrew Barnes' fortune. _

House frowned in disbelief at the note. The last one had been strange enough; this one barely made sense.

He shook the envelope upside down, and a gold chain fell out on to his desk. House picked it up and examined it closely. It was a fine chain, obviously good quality. Suspended from it was a charm in the shape of a small cat.

"House, are you busy this morning? I've got a twelve-year-old boy with enlarged lymph nodes and a low platelet count. I was considering ALL, but I wouldn't mind a second opinion." Wilson hadn't looked up from the file he was reviewing as he spoke. When he received no answer, he finally raised his eyes. "House?"

"I'm getting weird fan mail," House said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, actually Kitty's getting weird fan mail, but they're sending it to me." He held out the piece of paper for Wilson to view.

Wilson scanned it quickly. "That's bizarre."

"Yeah, and it's the second one. There was one on Monday, something about her having a broken heart." House couldn't recall the words of it exactly.

"I think you should call the police."

"And say what?" House wasn't a big fan of New Jersey's finest for obvious reasons. "They'll come here, take a look at it, say 'we'll see what we can do' and then do absolutely nothing."

Wilson shook his head. "But you have to do something. Have you told Kitty?"

"No." House remembered the look on Kitty's face when she'd headed off to work that morning at some ungodly hour barely after dawn. The fundraiser was stressing her out completely. She didn't need this on top of everything. "She's busy. It can wait."

"Are you sure that's wise? If someone's making threats against her, she has a right to know."

"Yeah, but it's not exactly a threat, is it? More an accusation. And it's not true, so she really doesn't have anything to worry about."

"Hmm, maybe. I don't know House; I still think you should call the police."

House paused for a moment, considering, and then took the piece of paper out of Wilson's hand. He folded it up, grabbed the chain from his desk and stuffed them both in a drawer. "Nah. I'm sure it's just some nut-job's idea of a joke."

Wilson shook his head, clearly realising there was nothing to be gained from continuing the conversation further.

"So, what's this case you want me to look at? Got any scans?"

-

* * *

-

House spent the rest of the day on Wilson's case. He had his team running a few tests and while they did that, House jumped on the internet. He did a Google search using the words in the note he'd received that morning and also did some searching on the cat charm and chain that had been in the envelope. All he'd managed to discover was that the jewellery had probably come from Tiffany – there was a very similar cat charm on their website – but nothing further.

Around three o'clock, Cuddy appeared in his office.

"Time to go, House," she said firmly.

"Huh?" House was in the middle of two searches, one on ALL and the other on the etymology of "cat burglar" and he'd barely noticed her walk in.

"I have strict instructions to get you out of here by three-thirty. I figured it could take half an hour, so here I am."

House looked at her, confused. "Instructions? What?"

"Catherine told me you have to be at the hotel by five o'clock to go through the dress rehearsal for the proceedings tonight. She made me promise to get your ass out of here on time. You need enough time to get out of here, go home, get changed and get to the hotel. Ninety minutes should be about right – if you don't spend too long doing your hair," Cuddy teased.

House shook his head definitively. "No, I can't go. I might not even be able to go to the fundraiser. My patient is—"

"—Doing much better since we started him on the steroids." Foreman chose exactly the wrong moment, in House's opinion, to walk in with an update on the kid.

House shook his head at Cuddy. "You know that's not going to last. Every time I give a patient prednisone, they get better for a while and then it makes whatever they've got a hundred times worse. Steroids never solve it."

"Come on House." She grabbed his chair and pulled him away from his desk. House was silently impressed by her strength. "No excuses. Get out of here."

"I'll keep an eye on the patient, House, and I'll call if anything changes," Foreman offered.

"Yeah, great, thanks," House muttered. He realised that he probably didn't have any choice. And besides, if he got home early enough, he might be able to coax Kitty into a little afternoon delight before they had to leave for the hotel. And between now and then he might just be able to come up with an excuse to get himself out of it entirely. House didn't feel the slightest twinge of guilt in hoping that the twelve-year-old had a sudden, dramatic relapse.

He got up and packed his backpack. He thought about it for a second, but then opened the drawer and grabbed the note and chain and stuffed them inside too.

"Good," Cuddy said, smugly satisfied as House began to walk out of his office. She walked him to the elevator and then all the way through the foyer to the front door.

"I'll see you later House, at the function. I have a feeling it's going to be a very interesting night."

Cuddy's eyes had a gleam in them that made House immediately suspicious. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just, you know, _you_, being all Chairman-like."

House snorted. "Yeah, right."

House smiled as he walked over to the Mercedes in his disabled parking spot. He was very fond of the car. And it could _go_. It only took him twenty minutes to get to Kitty's place. He'd arranged for his suit to be dropped off there by the cleaners, half hoping that it might get lost on the way. But no, when he walked inside, Kitty had the stereo blaring, his suit was laid out on the bed and she was in the bathroom, singing with a slightly frantic note to her voice.

"I didn't think you'd be home," House called out over the music.

Kitty poked her head around the bathroom door and grinned. "So Lisa came through. Yey."

"Yeah, she kicked me out on your orders, good for you," House muttered, beginning to strip off his jeans.

"We haven't got long, so make it quick. The hairdresser took too long doing my hair. I'm happy with it, but it took forever and now I'm terrified of mussing it up. I have to get to the hotel by five and we have to run through the dress rehearsal. Then I have to check the seating plan and make sure the hotel has got those bloody vegetarian meals right. I swear if they don't . . ."

House tuned out to her ranting, jumping in for a quick shower while Kitty finished her make up in the bathroom mirror. She was wearing a frumpy, fluffy white bathrobe which was a ridiculous contrast to her expertly styled hair, arranged in loops and whorls all over her head, with sexy little ringlets escaping out to frame her face.

As House did up his trousers and began putting on his crisp white dress shirt he had to face the fact that it was becoming more and more unlikely that he was going to get out of this thing. And then Kitty walked into the bedroom and shrugged off her bathrobe revealing a strapless black satin bra, matching thong and black stay-up stockings that had a seam running all the way down the back of each leg. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

_And he was going to have to sit with her all night knowing that was under her dress? _

Kitty noticed his reaction. "Yeah, sorry, no lace today. My dress is too tight, the lines would show through."

House shook his head, one side of his mouth curling up in a grin. "Oh, I'm not disappointed. In fact, I'm thinking that before you put on that dress we should—"

Kitty held up her hand, but she was smiling. "No. Nope. No way. I have too much riding on this night to get all mussed up now – and did I tell you how long it took for them to do my hair? Believe me, I'll jump your bones with enthusiasm later, but right now I'm too stressed to even think about it."

"O-h-h." House pouted like a little kid, but finished buttoning up his shirt and then sat down on the bed to pull on his black socks.

"Can you do up my zip?" Kitty turned her side to him. She was sheathed in peacock-blue taffeta and, once the zip was done up, it hugged her tightly from breasts to mid-thigh, flaring out slightly to finish with a flourish around her ankles. When she took a step, it revealed a long split in the skirt to above her knee. The top of the dress pushed her breasts together creating an amazing cleavage that House had a sudden desire to dive into.

"You're wearing that?" House asked, his voice a little hoarse.

Kitty immediately looked panicked. "Why? What? Is there something wrong with it?" She twisted around, looking at herself from all angles.

"Oh yes, there's something wrong. I don't want anyone else looking at what I'm looking at right now."

Kitty rolled her eyes, but House could tell she was delighted by the compliment. She gave him a playful slap on the arm. "Come on, finish up getting dressed. The cab's going to be here in five minutes." She bustled around, picking up a mask covered in peacock feathers for herself and a Phantom of the Opera-style one she'd picked for House that he'd already decided he would "accidentally" lose as soon as possible. She was busy stuffing things in a tiny evening purse when House – now fully dressed – grabbed her from behind and pressed a kiss to the bare skin between her shoulder blades.

Kitty wriggled out of his grasp and turned around, clearly about to chastise him, but her breath caught as her eyes surveyed him. "Wow," she said.

House did a fake prance and a model turn at the end of the bedroom, which was made especially funny by his limp. "Pretty sexy, huh?"

"You look gorgeous. I want you all to myself. But we have to go!" The horn of a cab sounded outside. Kitty held a little plastic meds bottle out to him. "Can you put my Nitrostat in one of your pockets? It doesn't fit in my purse because I have to take my phone."

"Sure." House put the pill bottle in his inside jacket pocket; it fitted nicely next to his Vicodin.

It felt strange, stepping outside in full evening regalia while it was still light. But House tucked Kitty's hand in his elbow and led her to the taxi, opening the door for her. Perhaps there were worse things than escorting a beautiful woman to a formal dinner, he thought. Even if he did have to make a speech.

-

* * *

**A/N: **Okay guys, I have to admit, I'm getting a little disheartened about whether I should continue posting this story or not. A large number of people have the story on alert, but only a few dedicated readers are reviewing (and I love you guys, seriously!). Please, if you like the story, leave a review. I put a huge amount of effort into doing this and reviews make such a difference to how I feel about writing and posting.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Thank you all so much - I thought I might get a couple of extra reviews, but I'm so thankful that so many of you took the time to give me some encouragement. I hereby declare myself overwhelmed by your love. I promise to continue posting AND to refrain from any further whiny tendencies.

* * *

-

Once they arrived at the hotel, Kitty felt the few moments of peace she'd had getting ready and sitting in the cab quietly with House had been like the eye of the storm. Before she'd even stepped in the room she was assaulted by three different people with three different problems.

"Catherine, we've got an overbooked table."

"One of the jazz performers has laryngitis."

"We've had a last minute request for halal meals."

Kitty sighed. She looked up at House and nodded towards the bar where she could see Steve Grosvenor already sitting. "Go get a drink," she told him. "I'll come get you as soon as we're ready for the run through."

He nodded and began to walk off but she grabbed his arm before he was out of reach. "And here." She pulled a folded sheet of paper out of her purse and thrust it into his hand. "Your _speech_," she said pointedly. "You might want to read it through."

House raised an eyebrow.

"I figured you might not have had _time_ to write your own." She gave him a look that let him know that she was well aware he'd never had any intention of writing one in the first place.

He grinned and held the paper up in a salute. "Thanks."

Unable to help smiling at him, Kitty let him go and turned her attention back to her PRC staffers and the hotel venue manager who were all still standing anxiously awaiting her decisions. Her smile instantly vanished. "Right," she said tiredly. "Who was first?"

It didn't take long to sort out the minor issues that had cropped up. She still had to check the final version of the seating plan – most people hadn't sent through the names of the people sitting at each table until the last minute – and make sure the hotel had the special food requests under control, but other than that, things appeared to be under control.

She walked over to the two doctors waiting at the bar, noticing that they seemed to have become friendly over the glasses of scotch in their hands. She winced, realising she should have arranged in advance for the bartender to only serve them beers.

"Right, you two, ready for your big rehearsal?"

"Absolutely."

"No."

Kitty nodded as both men answered at the same time. It was pretty much what she'd expected. "Come on then. We have to check the microphone levels and that the PowerPoint is working."

"PowerPoint?" House choked.

"Don't worry, it's not for you," Kitty said, patting him reassuringly on the arm.

She got both men up on the small stage that had been primarily set up for the band, but had a podium off to one side and a large screen as the backdrop. The screen was going to show images from some of the PRC's major activities over the past twelve months while the guests were mingling and eating. And when Steve spoke, they had a few graphs and figures to demonstrate the Council's performance.

Steve spoke first, welcoming everyone and then explaining the change to the Council's leadership. He was professional, clear, concise and engaging – just as she had known he would be. He then introduced House who paused for a long while before stepping up behind the microphone. Kitty was sure not many people would correctly interpret the look on his face. Public speaking was clearly one of his less preferred activities. But now that Steve had got up and done it so flawlessly, House was trapped by his innate competitiveness to do just as well, if not better, whilst knowing that he was in no way prepared to do so.

So he did what Kitty half expected him to do – he deliberately made a hash of it, making out he was much worse than Kitty knew he was. She'd intentionally made his speech short – just four paragraphs of thank yous to the appropriate people and a fairly bland and fuzzy outline of his hopes for the future of the PRC. But just those few mumbled words were enough to make the hotel staff who were setting the tables stop and stare.

Steve took the microphone back from House with a desperate look at Kitty. He went on to complete his presentation, reviewing the past year of the PRC's work and praising the many people who'd been part of its success.

"That's was . . . great," Kitty called out when they were finished.

Both men stepped down from the stage and House headed straight back to the bar.

"Kitty?" Steve stepped close her, his forehead creased with anxiety, and Kitty knew exactly what he was worried about.

"Don't worry. I'll work with him on it as soon as I've finished up a few other things. It'll be fine. In the meantime, go have another drink with him. Make sure he doesn't get drunk. Make sure you don't get drunk either."

Steve gave a brief laugh and shook his head. Then he looked at her seriously and put a hand on her shoulder. "I promise to do that, if you promise not to get yourself into a state. You're looking very stressed. It's going to be a lovely night, just try to relax and enjoy it, okay?"

Kitty gave him a smile. "Okay. What would I do without you?"

"Who knows? Have a heart attack?" He gave her a fatherly hug that Kitty couldn't help relaxing into for a second. Steve Grosvenor and his wife were the closest thing to family that Kitty had. Not that she was going to let them know that. Steve straighted up, gave her an encouraging smile, then walked over to the bar to rejoin House.

"Catherine!" Her assistant at the PRC, Penny, walked up with a panicked expression on her face. "It's a disaster! No one can find the table centrepieces."

Kitty closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. She felt a faint clench in her chest as her already elevated stress levels leapt up one notch higher.

"Right," she said determinedly. "Let's go see if we can find them."

-

* * *

-

House sat at the bar slowly sipping his second scotch. Grosvenor wasn't bad company and he wasn't averse to dishing the dirt, so they'd been talking about some of the more soap opera-style goings on at each of their hospitals.

While they spoke, House watched Kitty as she seemed to run from one problem to the next, only solving it to be confronted by some new issue. He realised then, if he hadn't known it before, that the success of the PRC really rested on only one person. If it wasn't for her, there would be no PRC.

Grosvenor was talking about something, but House wasn't really listening. He narrowed his eyes as Kitty pressed her palm to her sternum while she was talking to some girl. By his count it was the fourth time she'd done it. He figured it was way overdue for Kitty to have some timeout and perhaps even some medication, but before he could step down from his barstool, a smarmy looking suited man stepped in front of him.

"Dr House, I'm Oliver Joyce, the manager of the hotel. I understand you're the new Chairman of the PRC." He offered his hand to shake.

House took it and returned the handshake but gave a "can you believe it" look to Grosvenor. The other man snorted.

"I just wanted to meet you and thank you and the PRC for deciding to hold the fundraiser at our hotel. I understand that there have been one or two minor issues leading up to the event—"

House couldn't help letting out a sarcastic "ha" at that; from what he'd heard from Kitty the hotel had been sending her around the bend with their stuff ups.

The hotel manager ignored House's outburst and continued, "—so we'd like to offer you a complimentary suite for the evening." He held out a cardboard folder with a plastic key card inside. "You can auction it off as a prize tonight if you'd like. Help raise money for a good cause. Our hotel is always anxious to assist the medical community of Princeton—"

House tucked the key inside his jacket pocket. _Auction it off? No way! _Kitty needed timeout and now he had the perfect escape route.

"Thanks," House said, cutting the guy off in the middle of his pitch. He stood up and turned to Grosvenor, effectively turning his back to the hotel manager who huffed and walked off. "I think Kitty's getting stressed. Perhaps I'll take her for a quick break somewhere and she can help me practice my speech."

Grosvenor gave House a measured look and House felt suddenly uncomfortable. The man was probably only ten or so years older than he was, but it was as if he was a teenager again, faced by a date's father, all concerned about his intentions.

"Why do you call Catherine Kitty?" Grosvenor asked, not a trace of humour in his voice.

All manner of witty retorts sprang to House's tongue, but for once he managed to hold them in. For some reason he knew that it mattered what this man thought of him. "It's the name she was called by her parents," he said, somewhat truthfully. Kitty had told him that her mother had called her by that pet name, as well as Andrew Barnes. "Catherine's her professional name. Kitty's her personal name."

Grosvenor nodded slowly and gave House a small smile. "You really do need to work on that speech," he said.

House gave a quick grin, feeling as if he had somehow passed a test. "Will do," he said with a nod.

He walked over to where Kitty was still talking to the girl, her hand still pressed to her chest.

"Penny, I don't know how we can—"

"Kitty, I need your help with something," House interrupted.

She gave a frustrated sigh. "What is it, Greg?"

"I need you to help me stop you having a heart attack."

"What?" Kitty looked down and seemed to just realise that her hand was pressing on her chest. She pulled it away and shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. What still needs to be done?" he asked.

"All the seating plans have to be checked," she said, holding up a sheaf of papers.

House pulled them out of her hand and gave them to Penny. "Penny, do you think you can handle that?"

Penny nodded. "Sure. Catherine you do look a little unwell. I think it would be a good idea to go sit down. I can take care of this."

Kitty looked uncertainly between the two of them. She was having difficulty giving up control of the detail checking, House knew, but he also realised she must be in pain if she was considering taking a rest. That decided him.

"Come on." He put a hand around her waist and steered her through the tables towards the foyer. As they walked out the door he looked over to the bar. Steve Grosvenor raised his glass a fraction in a kind of salute.

-

* * *

-

Once they were in the foyer, House kept steering Kitty towards the elevator bank.

"What? Where are we going?" Kitty pulled on his arm. "Let's just sit down on one of those sofas."

"Nope," House said, giving her a grin. "I've got a better idea." He checked the folder the manager had given him and once in the elevator pressed the button for floor twenty-eight. "The manager gave me a suite to make up for all the hassle they've given you, so I think the least we can do is check it out."

"What?" Kitty put her hands on her hips. "Greg, I'm sure the hotel meant that the suite was for the PRC. We can't—"

"Oh, yes we can," he interrupted. "Besides, you _are_ the PRC."

Kitty frowned. "I don't think—"

"You are," he said more quietly, giving her a serious look. "I know you think I'm careless, but I have actually read the stuff you sent to me. I know how hard you work. I know that the PRC has made some pretty impressive achievements. In fact, there's a study you're about to begin funding into CRPS type two that I wouldn't mind being part of somehow."

"As a patient?" Kitty asked.

House nodded.

She looked surprised, but pleased. "I'm sure we can find a way to make that happen."

The elevator doors opened and House grabbed Kitty's hand, pulling her along until he located the suite door for room 2815. He inserted the key, opened the door and they both smiled as they walked into the room.

It was only one room, but it was huge and located at the corner of the building. Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a view across the city, the sunset blushing pastel colours across the sky. A massive king-sized bed dominated the room, with a fluffy down comforter and more pillows than House could count. A large plasma screen TV was affixed to one wall and a bookcase included an impressively stocked minibar. Double doors were opened to the bathroom and they revealed a huge oval Jacuzzi.

"Nice," House said, impressed.

"I just want to sink into that bed and never get up," Kitty said longingly.

"I can help with that." House raised his eyebrows suggestively, remembering the sexy black satin hidden under her dress. His trousers felt suddenly too tight.

Kitty shook her head. "No, we can't. I can't mess up my hair or my dress." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I think I might need to take a pill though."

House nodded. "Sit down."

Kitty took a seat on the bed and House sat next to her, reaching in to his jacket pocket and handing her the pill bottle. "I'd offer you a drink to wash away the taste, but that's probably not a good idea." Instead he got up and grabbed one of the tiny bottles of Jack Daniels and twisted the top off.

"Greg."

Kitty's exasperated tone just made House want to misbehave more. He tipped up the bottle and poured its entire contents down his throat.

"You have to make a speech later, I don't want you to be drunk."

"You clearly have no idea of how much it takes to get me drunk." He sat back on the bed next to her and fiddled with the skirt of her dress, separating the fabric where the split revealed her legs. He ran his hand up the inside of one of her thighs, over the silky nylon of her stockings, smiling when she shivered at his touch.

"I said no," Kitty said, but she didn't make any move to stop him. Instead she twisted a little towards him, her hand snaking inside his jacket. He knew she was only returning the bottle of pills to his pocket, but her hand rested on his chest when it was done.

"Your mouth says no, but I don't think you really mean it," he said, running the tips of his fingers around the tops of her stockings, stroking the soft skin of her thigh and gradually moving higher. Her breath caught and her fingers pressed harder into his chest.

She bit her lip and looked at him, a serious expression on her face. Eventually she sighed. "I can't say no to you. I'd be worried about that, but suddenly I'm too horny to care."

House laughed.

"But I have to hang up my dress. And you can't touch my hair. And we have to find a position so I'm not lying down, but that doesn't involve me doing all the work in case I get dizzy again," she ordered. "I don't have time to rest and recover."

House smiled at the list of instructions. "I can deal with that."

"And you should take your suit off too. You don't want to get crumpled."

"How do you know? I think I'd love to get crumpled."

"And I'd love to crumple you. But not now, later."

"Okay."

Kitty got up and threw open the closet doors, her hand going to the zipper of her dress. She undid it, stepped out of it and hooked it over a hanger, all before House had even got his jacket off. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled it off, handing it to Kitty to hang up. He did the same with his shirt and trousers. Soon he was standing in boxers and socks and Kitty was in her underwear.

Kitty looked around the room. "There's no clock."

"I've got a watch," House said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer as he used the other hand to free one of her breasts from her bra.

"We'll have to keep an eye on the time," Kitty admonished. "I've only got about twenty minutes and then I need to be back."

"Ah-huh," House agreed, mumbling as his lips closed around her nipple.

"Oooh." Kitty let out a little moan and wound her hands into the hair at the nape of his neck.

After laving both nipples with his tongue, House raised his head and kissed her, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and running his tongue along it. She sighed and opened her mouth to him and House took her, invited her tongue in to meet his and sucked on it. Her fingernails scraped against his back and House felt a sudden urgency to bury himself inside her.

Mindful of her requirements and the time limit, House steered them both towards the desk against the window. He pulled out the chair, sat down and dragged her down onto his lap, facing him. He made her sit straddling his hips but away from his body, balanced right on the edge of his knees. That way her weight didn't hurt his thigh and it also gave him space to touch her intimately. He got straight down to business; pulling the strip of her thong to one side, he plunged a finger inside her.

"Oh Greg," Kitty moaned. Her hands trailed down his body and reached inside the slit of his boxers, pulling his heated shaft free. She began to stroke him in her fist, her urgency matching his.

He used his thumb to rub her clit and she threw back her head, gasping in pleasure. Her hips began undulating, riding his hand, and it was the sexiest sight – House felt the pressure building in his balls just watching her. He let her rock against his hand for a long while before he added a second, and then a third finger inside her, thrusting in and out of her until she cried out.

"Greg!" House could feel her inner muscles begin to quiver and knew she was close to her peak. Her hand still grasped him, but she was distracted now and he wanted desperately to be inside her when she came.

She let out a little gasp as his hand slipped out of her. "Come closer," he said, cupping her ass with both hands, urging her to move forward and seat herself over him.

"No." Kitty put her hands on her shoulders. "Greg, I just had that pill . . . but I'm still worried I might pass out if we do it this way, it'll be too much . . ."

House made an irritated noise deep in his throat. He wanted to throw her on the bed and dive on top of her, but he somehow knew that no matter how mindless she was from pleasure, he'd get in trouble for messing up her hair. And anything that stood between him and orgasm – even just another lecture about her hair – was worth avoiding.

He looked around the room and an idea flashed into his brain. "Stand up," he ordered. She did as requested and he turned her around to face the desk. "Bend over."

Kitty bent at the waist and rested her elbows on the desk. "Oh, this feels naughty," she said, a little shudder running up her spine. "I'm glad we're high enough that no one can see in. I've got a gorgeous view."

House stood up suddenly, the chair tipping over in his haste. He stood behind her and yanked her thong down to her knees, admiring the straight lines of the seams of her stockings that ran up each curvaceous leg. "No, I've got a gorgeous view," he countered, stroking a finger down the curve of her ass. He looked up and smiled at her faint reflection, the sun had dipped below the horizon now, turning the windows dark enough to mirror them softly.

Kitty gave him a slow, sexy smile in return.

It was the last straw for House. He knew from playing with her with his fingers that she was ready. He pulled his boxers down, put one hand on her hip and with the other he positioned himself at her entrance.

"You wanted this to be quick, right?" he said.

"Yes, but—oooh." Kitty let out a sigh as he slid into her in one long, slow thrust.

"Ah, fuck, Kitty, this is good." He squeezed her butt cheeks with both hands, watching as he moved in and out of her, slick and hot and tight.

"Touch me, Greg, I want your fingers back on me." Kitty sounded breathless, her words a gasped whisper.

House leaned over so he could reach her clit and he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. Kitty muttered an expletive and her head dropped to her forearms.

He sped up, moving faster, harder, feeling his cock hit her cervix each time he buried himself deeply inside. Kitty was whimpering and he wondered if it was hurting her, but she was pushing herself back onto him each time he moved forward.

"Are you okay?" House pushed himself inside her again and gave a short, breathless laugh. "Fuck it, even if you aren't I can't stop. This is too good."

"Don't stop," Kitty said, desperately.

House rubbed her clit, hard, and was rewarded by a throaty cry and Kitty's muscles pulsing around him in rhythmic spasms as she came. Her cries and the squeeze of her vagina around him tipped him over the edge. He took in a breath, and then another, his balls tightening, and then he felt the blissful jets of release, letting out a long, satisfied groan.

As the last shudders passed through him, House took a step back and staggered. He desperately needed to collapse somewhere, but falling over Kitty who was still bent over the desk was out of the question, and wouldn't really take the pressure off his leg anyway. He took two hobbled steps and fell back on the bed with a sigh.

He closed his eyes, but felt as Kitty joined him on the bed, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

"What about your hair?" House asked, barely able to find the energy to form the words.

"If I rest my cheek on your shoulder like this, it won't get mussed."

"Hmph." House made a muttered noise of contentment and lay still for a while. "Marry me?" he said suddenly. It was one of those times when the thought went from his brain straight to his mouth, missing any filtering processes in between. He thought Kitty was probably just as startled as he was to hear the words aloud. Which didn't mean he didn't mean it.

Kitty didn't lift her head, but her voice made her disbelief clear. "Marry you? I can't marry you. I've known you for barely two weeks."

"Yeah, but when you know, you know."

He couldn't see her face, but he somehow knew she was rolling her eyes at him. "I think we need to get to know one another better," Kitty said reasonably.

"Who knows you better than I do?" House asked, already knowing the answer.

Kitty fell silent for a while, and then raised her head slightly, looking at him with the sweetest confused expression that made House want to kiss her and kiss her all over again.

"You know me better than anyone," she admitted quietly. "But I'm not quite sure I want to be Mrs House just yet, okay?"

"Okay. But I reserve the right to pester you about it later."

"Deal."

"I'll ask you any time I feel like it," he insisted.

"Okay. And I'll answer you any time I feel like it."

"Sounds good."

They lay silent for a while. "Have we got enough time to have a little rest?" Kitty asked, her words mumbled against his chest.

"Plenty of time," House answered without checking his watch.

"Good." Kitty snuggled into him and House closed his eyes. This was the best fundraiser he'd ever been to.


	19. Chapter 19

When they returned to the function room, Kitty was horrified to find almost all the guests had already arrived. "You told me we had plenty of time," she hissed to House under her breath, annoyed but still feeling a note of satisfaction at the evidence of her success. The room was almost full, the musicians and entertainers were wandering around the room, and the men and women looked spectacular in their evening dress and Mardi Gras masks.

She grabbed House's wrist and checked his watch, horrified at finding out the time. "The function's already started!" Kitty whispered angrily. "We've missed the hors d'oeuvres and I've missed greeting people!"

"Ah, don't get your knickers in a twist, you've got plenty of time to say hi to everyone," he answered, pulling his arm from her grip and looking at his watch. "Dinner's still ten minutes away."

"Ten minutes?" Kitty whirled to face him. "We were away for over an hour! You said you'd keep an eye on the time! I need more than ten—"

"Ms Brecht, Dr House," a voice said smoothly behind them. "It's nice to see you again."

Kitty turned and frowned at the man greeting her. His face was familiar but—

"Seth Bannister, from Bannister McKinnon," the man said helpfully. "I read Andrew Barnes's will."

Kitty felt House's arm snake around her waist and press into her in an uncharacteristically discrete show of support.

"What are you doing here?" House asked curtly. "Checking to see we're upholding our side of the agreement?"

"Yes, actually," he replied pleasantly, ignoring House's rudeness. He gave a small smile to Kitty. "And our firm is pleased to support the PRC's work."

"Well, thank you," Kitty felt obliged to reply. "But as you'll see when he makes his speech later, Dr House is very much in place as Chairman of the PRC."

Seth Bannister nodded. "I look forward to it. I notice some unusual people are attending tonight," he added mysteriously. "But then I guess as it's a charitable event, you can't necessarily control the guest list. Still. I'm glad my table's up the back." He gave them a strange, lopsided smile and then disappeared into the milling throng of guests.

"What was that all about?" House asked.

"I have no idea." Kitty shook her head.

House shrugged. "Oh well. It doesn't matter. Everything's fine. We're doing everything according to the will stipulations. It's not like he's going to find anything that can change the bequest."

"I guess you're right." Still, Kitty couldn't help the strange sense of anxiety that had begun to grow in the pit of her stomach. Something he'd said gave her a looming sense of dread, as if there was something terribly important about the evening that she'd somehow overlooked. Before she could think too much further, Lisa Cuddy came over to them.

"House! You always look so handsome in a tux. Don't know why you don't wear one every day," she said.

Kitty noticed House's faint embarrassment and wasn't all that surprised that he covered it with a rude quip.

"Whereas I can see perfectly well why you can't wear a dress like that every day. Not with that ass."

"It's a beautiful dress, Lisa," Kitty said, elbowing House and hoping to interrupt before the bantering could go much further. Cuddy was wearing a red silk sheath that hugged her every curve and had a mask shaped to look like flames that matched it perfectly. She turned to House. "We forgot our masks, they're still up in the . . ." Kitty trailed off, realising she had been just about to give away the fact that she and House had shared a hotel room.

"Yeah, I know, we left them on the bed," House said. "I was too spent from our passion to remember to pick them up."

Kitty felt the blush rise up her cheeks and didn't miss the challenging look House sent to Cuddy. To her surprise, Lisa Cuddy simply nodded and smiled.

"Everyone will take their masks off when we sit down to dinner anyway," Cuddy said consolingly. "And speaking of—"

A Pierrot-style clown danced through the crowd with a dinner gong.

"You're both on my table," Cuddy said. "We're table number three, up the front." She pointed to a table near the stage.

"Why don't you go sit with Cuddy while I just check a few last minute things?" Kitty said to House, hoping that a last minute run through of details with Penny would settle the nervous knot in her gut. "I really have to check in and make sure everything's okay."

House nodded and he and Cuddy headed off towards the table.

Kitty put a hand on his arm as he began to walk off. "Greg?" she said quietly. "It's an important night for me."

He studied her for a while before giving a curt nod.

"Thank you." Kitty smiled; she knew he understood what she had asked. Not that he be anyone other than the man he was, but that he play nice, just for a while, the way she knew he could if he cared to.

-

* * *

-

Cuddy was pleased with how her little strategy for the evening was working out, but still a little anxious about what might yet happen. She wasn't really looking forward to sitting next to Denis Barnes for hours, but as soon as she'd arrived she'd gone over to the table and altered the place cards to ensure that Denis and House were sitting on either side of her. She was sure she'd be able to find a way to engage the two of them in conversation.

Just before they reached the table, a white-haired doctor Cuddy recognised as Dr Grosvenor from Princeton General pulled House to one side. House said he'd meet Cuddy in a minute.

Cuddy was nearing table three when she saw a blonde woman she didn't recognise rearranging the name cards.

"Were you unhappy with the place settings?" Cuddy asked quickly. She scanned the table and saw that Denis and House's names were still together, except now instead of being in between them, she was on one side of Denis, with Catherine on her other side instead of next to House.

"I just really wanted to sit next to Catherine," the woman said with a funny smile. "We're old friends and we haven't seen each other for a long time. It would be great to catch up."

"Oh, that's nice," Cuddy said. She didn't care, as long as her plans for tonight were still in place. And they were.

Cuddy and the blonde woman took their seats, leaving a space in between them for Kitty.

"I'm Lisa," she said, putting out her hand to shake.

"Miranda," the other woman answered.

Cuddy was distracted for a moment as Denis arrived at the table.

"Ah, little Lisa Cuddy," he said heartily, in a way that made Cuddy's stomach drop. She'd got so wrapped up in her stratagem for House, she'd forgotten quite how much this man made her stomach turn. She forced herself to remember that the man was House's half-brother and that it was important for House that she was nice to him. "I see you've met my sister Miranda."

"Denis," she said, pasting on a smile. "How nice to see you, and yes, Miranda and I have met." She stood up and Denis pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek.

"You look beautiful!" he said loudly. Then he leaned in and whispered in her ear conspiratorially. "I brought the . . . ah . . . _little blue pills_ with me tonight, so if you want, just say the word and I'll get us a hotel room."

Cuddy choked and barely held herself in check. She had an overwhelming urge to yell in his face: _Do you really think there's the slightest chance on earth I'd want to have sex with you?? _For the first time Cuddy felt a faint sense of discomfort about what she had organised. Was this man really the kind of brother House needed to get to know? She had to admit, for all his faults, House was usually an excellent judge of character, and Wilson had already told her that House wasn't interested in knowing Denis. She suddenly reconsidered her plan, but looking around the room at the guests who were now seated and eating their entrees, she realised it was all far too late.

She sat down and reached for her glass of wine, thinking that getting mildly drunk might not be a bad idea. As she picked up her drink she noticed Miranda putting down a glass of red wine in the empty place next to her. She frowned, wondering what the woman was doing.

"I just realised I accidentally picked up the wrong glass!" Miranda said with a little giggle, picking up the glass of champagne in front of her. "That must be Catherine's. I don't even like red wine."

"Easy done," Cuddy said shrugging. When the woman smiled her face pulled tight and Cuddy was slightly horrified by the grimace it produced. It confirmed her decision never to have plastic surgery. Well, maybe a little botox, but no surgery. Miranda turned away quickly, absorbed in conversation with the person on her other side.

"Now, Lisa," Denis's booming voice said to her right. "Tell me about Princeton Plainsboro. What's going on there this week?"

Cuddy sighed, plastered a smile on her face, and began talking. As she spoke she saw House walk up to the table. He looked down at his place card and pulled out his chair. Belatedly, he seemed to notice who was sitting next to him and he scowled. Cuddy briefly caught his eye and he glared at her as if he knew exactly what she'd done. He shifted in his seat, adjusting his chair so he had his back to the other man, and began talking to the person on his right. Patently ignoring both her and Denis. Cuddy was both disappointed and impressed – she realised that under usual circumstances, House would have made a fuss, kicked up a racket, refused to sit where he was meant to.

_Catherine must really have his number. _

And meanwhile, Denis was so busy talking to her, he didn't even notice House's presence next to him.

Cuddy held in a groan. Knowing she'd got herself into this didn't make it even a little bit easier to put up with.

-

* * *

-

Kitty quickly checked with Penny and the hotel's event manager to make sure all the last minute details were being attended to. There had only been one little drama, one of the guests had fallen faint in the foyer, but the hotel's first aid team had dealt with that and the woman and her partner – a doctor, of course – as well as the couple that were attending with them, had gone home. That meant she had a table of only six, but there was nothing she could do about that. She quickly went over to check on them, happy to find them in good spirits and quickly working their way through the bottle of champagne on their table.

Everything seemed fine, and yet Kitty still couldn't rid herself of the gnawing sense of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was simply the lawyer's presence that was upsetting her. She tried to shrug it off – there really was no reason to be concerned.

Still feeling a little weak from her exertions upstairs with House – it really had been a very irresponsible thing to do, she chastised herself – Kitty was more than ready to sit down and enjoy a glass of wine. She headed over to table three, quickly spotting the single empty chair that was hers. She was disappointed to note that House wasn't seated next to her, but then she figured that probably wasn't a bad thing, if he had been, he'd no doubt do something like try to fondle her under the table and, knowing how weak she was when it came to him, Kitty would probably have let him do it. She was pleased to see that on one side of the empty spot was Cuddy, and she looked up when Kitty reached the table and pulled out the empty chair.

"Just in time to eat," Cuddy said warmly. The man on Cuddy's right put a hand on her arm, and Cuddy gave Kitty a barely perceptible grimace before turning back to him. Kitty's eyes followed and she couldn't hold in the gasp of surprise at realising that Cuddy's dinner companion was Denis Barnes. To Denis's right was House, deliberately turned away and in deep conversation with the person on his other side. He hadn't noticed Kitty's approach. Kitty observed the white-knuckled grip Dr Cuddy had on her wine glass, she was sure the other woman was _not_ having the time of her life.

Kitty sat down, desperately trying to catch House's gaze, but he was clearly so determined to look away from Denis he was ignoring everyone on that side of the table. With Cuddy and Denis talking, Kitty felt she had no choice but to introduce herself to the rest of the table. She turned to her left and felt the air rush out of her lungs.

Miranda Barnes was sitting right next to her, staring at her with unconcealed hatred. She reeled back, clutching the table with one hand. How had this happened? She hadn't even seen Denis and Miranda's names on the guest list, let alone figured they'd end up on her table. Then with a sinking feeling she realised – they'd been invited by Lisa Cuddy because of the Barnes Trust: Kitty knew that it funded PPTH. And Penny had done the final run-through of the guest list while she had been upstairs. She felt her pulse rise and a sense of panic grip her. Logically she realised it wasn't that big a deal – all she had to do was go find somewhere else to sit for the night. There was no way she could sit next to Miranda Barnes and not either pass out from an angina attack or get bitch-slapped. Or both. But for some reason, whether shock or just plain anxiety, she couldn't find the will to stand.

"Kitty," Miranda said as if the word was repellent to her, her face a snarl.

"Miranda," Kitty replied, trying to be civil. "I didn't realise you were coming tonight."

"Clearly."

"How are you?" Kitty choked out. She looked across to House, desperately hoping he could rescue her, only to find James Wilson had walked over and House had stood up to greet him, both men wandering away from the table a little way.

"I'm _very_ well," Miranda answered, her eyes flashing. "I see you've found another rich man to sponge off."

"What?" Kitty gasped. While she'd known Miranda would be unpleasant, she had no expectation the other woman would come out fighting so publicly. With a shaking hand she reached out for the red wine in front of her and took a sip, trying to calm her nerves.

"Dr House is, as you well know, a reasonably wealthy man," Miranda continued. "Not as rich as my father, but then, I guess you've got to take what you can get – now that you're getting on a bit and can't play the innocent little girl anymore."

Kitty's mouth fell open and her shock turned into anger. She hadn't spoken more than a few words to Miranda since she'd stopped seeing Andrew. And even back then, they hadn't exactly had many interactions. She knew the woman disliked her, but Kitty would had never predicted the strength of her loathing.

Miranda leaned closer, spitting out her words in a furious whisper. "Daddy only needed _one_ daughter. Having you whoring around was never going to—"

The rest of Miranda's words were lost as music came swelling out of the speakers around the room and the lights dimmed. Kitty's stomach churned with disbelief and rage, but there was nothing she could do now but sit quietly – getting up to walk off would be noticed by everyone in the room because their table was right at the front. And Kitty was feeling so emotional, she wondered if she could even manage to stand. She told herself that as soon as the speeches were done, she'd excuse herself and find somewhere else to sit. Even if it had to be the kitchen.

She turned her back on Miranda, making it look as if she was turning to face the stage, but in truth she couldn't bear to look at the woman anymore. Having her cloying perfume hanging around was bad enough.

Dr Grosvenor walked to the podium and welcomed everyone warmly. He thanked them for coming, and – just as they had rehearsed – briefly and politely explained that he would be stepping down as Chairman. He thanked the board, Kitty and his family and then generously introduced House. Kitty had trouble taking it all in, Miranda's accusations were running through her head. But despite that, when House took the stage Kitty tried to put it to the back of her mind. She willed a silent prayer that he'd do a good job, and couldn't help admiring him again, all dressed up in his evening finery. He held a single sheet of paper in his hand – his speech, Kitty was pleased to see. She held her breath, wondering how he was going to do. They hadn't exactly used the break in the hotel room to practice, as she'd suggested.

House put the paper down on the lectern and looked down at it. "The Pain Research Council exists to conduct research into all types of chronic pain," he began reading. "Its mission is to—" House broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. Kitty held her breath. He'd started off so confidently – read the first line of the speech she'd written perfectly just as she knew he could do. _Did he have stage fright?_

House took the sheet in front of him, folded it into four and slipped it back inside his jacket pocket. He grabbed the lectern with both hands and stared out at the audience. The few whispers that had begun when he'd fallen silent immediately ceased.

"The PRC's _mission_ is irrelevant," he said, practically spitting out the management jargon. "What it's _meant to do _is to relieve suffering. With every piece of research we fund, we come closer to giving life back to someone who lives in pain every day. Pain isn't popular. It isn't interesting, or fun, and often it isn't even explainable. There are no concerts, no ribbons, no _international day of chronic pain_. And it's not about celebrities, or supermodels, or especially cute-looking kids. It's about you . . . And you . . . And you." As he spoke he pointed to three people in the crowd who gasped, clearly in shock at having been correctly identified as suffering from some kind of pain condition.

"I can't promise you I'm going to be a good Chairman, hell, I'll probably be crap at all that stuff. But I'll rely on Steve—" He gave a nod to the man next to him. "—and K-Catherine—" He smiled warmly down at her. "—to navigate me through. What I do want to do is come back here next year with some real people. I want to introduce you to people who are now living pain-free because of work done by the PRC. I want you to hear their stories, about what it's like to be crippled by pain, to be misunderstood, stared at, ridiculed and constantly, _incessantly_ hurting. And then they're going to tell us what it's like to have that burden taken away because of work _we_ do. I want to show you people who are no longer living in agony. And I'm hoping that might include me."

He gave a curt nod and limped away from the lectern. There was a moment of shocked silence before the room erupted in applause. Kitty blinked back tears as she clapped hard enough to make her hands tingle. Cuddy twisted around in her seat to give Kitty an amazed look; Kitty smiled when she saw the other woman's eyes had welled with tears too.

Kitty took a deep breath as the applause finally subsided. Steve re-took the stage, assuring everyone that it was a hard act to follow, but he now had the boring stuff to take care of. The audience laughed good-naturedly and he went on to present the year's results as they'd prepared. House still stood on the stage, back and to one side of Steve, no longer in the spotlight. But although the lights weren't on him, Kitty could see him perfectly and could tell that his eyes were on her. She gave him a beaming smile – Denis and Miranda and her sense of doom forgotten for the moment. This man not only understood and forgave her past, he understood and supported her present. She wanted nothing more than to make him a part of her future. _He wanted her to be Mrs House?_ Suddenly, she couldn't wait.

Kitty picked up her wine glass and held it in a little salute to him before mouthing the word "Yes" across to him. He frowned at first, confused, but then she saw as awareness dawned, as he understood what she meant, and was thrilled by the look of delight that flooded his face. She looked away, worried that someone might see the raw emotion on her face, and took a long sip of her drink. She grimaced at the bitter flavour, and made a note to speak to the hotel about the quality of the wine.

She turned back to the table, feeling somehow stronger, knowing now that she wasn't alone. She braced herself for Miranda's spite, only to find the other woman had disappeared at some point. Good. At least it gave Kitty a chance to find another seat and to try to avoid her for the rest of the night. Kitty still didn't know exactly what she'd done to deserve the woman's hatred. Kitty couldn't help thinking that with what Andrew Barnes had put her through, _surely it should be the other way around?_

"Congratulations on organising such a lovely evening," Dr Cuddy said once Dr Grosvenor had completed his speech, deliberately shifting her body to face Kitty.

"Thank you."

"I know how much work these things are. You should be proud. And you actually got House to make a speech. That's seriously impressive – you deserve a medal."

Kitty nodded, still smiling, but all her thoughts were on making a quick exit to somewhere safer before Miranda returned. Preferably in the back of the room as far from table three as possible. At that thought, the words of the lawyer earlier came back to haunt her – he'd said he was glad he was at the back of the room. _Could he possibly have been trying to avoid the Barnes brother and sister too? _Kitty decided to see if she could find him and ask some questions.

Kitty picked up her wine glass and drained it. She pulled a face as she did. "This wine is terrible," she said to Cuddy. "I must talk to the hotel about it. And they obviously poured me the last of the bottle, it was all gritty. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to—"

Cuddy reached out and grabbed Kitty's arm. Her eyes went wide as she leant in and whispered. "Please, save me. I can't stand another moment talking to him."

Kitty gave her a sympathetic smile. She knew exactly how she felt.

"Dr Cuddy, excuse me but I need to go to the bathroom," Kitty said conspiratorially, raising her voice enough so that Denis could hear. "Do you know where they are?"

Cuddy grinned. "Actually I could use to powder my nose too. I'll show you." She reached down to grab her evening purse, leaving Kitty looking straight at Denis.

"Oh, Kitty, it _is_ you," he said. "I didn't realise you were sitting there." He did one of those sleazy laughs Kitty felt he'd perfected. "You look, uh, lovely."

Kitty smiled but bit the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from saying anything. Denis was as thick as two short planks, but he still made her uneasy. At least Miranda's hatred was obvious. Denis's feelings were less clear. Sometimes she thought he disliked her as much as his mother and sister did, while at others she thought he sort of fancied her. _Ick_.

The two women stood up, but as soon as she was on her feet Kitty felt dizzy and her head began throbbing with the beginnings of a bad headache. She paused, gripping the chair, and took a deep breath.

"Are you okay?" Cuddy asked, concerned.

Kitty gave her a weak smile. "I just have a little headache," she confessed.

"Understandable," Cuddy said. "These evenings can be so stressful."

_You have no idea,_ Kitty thought. She ought to be angry with the other woman for seating her and House with the Barnes' siblings, but she had to remember that even if it had been done purposefully, it had been done without knowledge of her past.

"Have you got any painkillers?" Cuddy asked, still concerned.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Kitty said reassuringly. "Let's go."


	20. Chapter 20

Kitty and Cuddy made a trip to the bathroom last as long as it possibly could, stopping to talk to a few other people they recognised on the way there and back. By the time they were making their way back to the tables, meals had been cleared and the band had begun playing. A few people were out on the dance floor already, much to Kitty's relief. Now she could table-hop to any vacant space on the pretence of catching up with someone. She couldn't wait to sit down. Her headache was fast becoming a full-blown migraine and she was getting breathless in the way that sometimes foreshadowed an angina attack. She figured that all the stress of the evening, plus Miranda's outburst, had been enough to trigger one. Two in one day was a record for her.

Kitty looked around for House, realising she hadn't had a chance to speak to him since his speech, but he was nowhere to be seen. She'd have to find him soon if her chest pain got any worse – he still had her Nitrostat in his pocket.

Her scan of the room had told her that Miranda was back at their table. She and her brother were both sitting alone, gazing at the dancers, blankly expressionless. For the first time, Kitty wondered what sort of parenting they'd had. They were two very disturbed – and very disturbing – individuals. _What sort of father had Andrew been?_ Denis was weak and socially inept; he went through life failing at anything he tried his hand to, careless and blundering. Miranda was bitter and unhappy; the amount of plastic surgery she'd had showed that her self-esteem must be close to zero. Neither of them was married or had any significant relationships that Kitty was aware of.

"Like the speech?" Kitty smiled with relief when she heard House's voice from behind her.

Both women turned around and Kitty couldn't help breaking out into a broad smile when she saw his smug grin. "You were wonderful," she said, leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek.

He hugged her briefly, holding her to him to whisper in her ear. "Did you see who was at our table?" House asked, under his breath, his distaste evident.

"Yeah."

"I behaved," House said, his voice clipped, "but only just."

"I noticed." Kitty gave him a grateful squeeze, but when she lifted her arm up to embrace him, it felt weak and achy. A shooting pain ran from her shoulder to her elbow and she stepped back with a little catch of her breath.

Cuddy was smiling broadly at them and she gave a short laugh before learning up to give House a peck on the cheek too. "You actually gave a proper speech, House. I thought I'd never live to see the day," she said with another laugh.

House gave a pleased grin. "Neither did I."

"Maybe this PRC thing will actually be good for you," Cuddy said.

"Don't get any ideas, Cuddy. I'm not going into public speaking."

"Just as well, you're mostly really crap at it."

"What, you think I have bad _dic_tion?" House said, clearly baiting.

Without warning, Kitty felt the room dip around her and a wave of nausea sweep over her. She thrust out a hand to steady herself as she took a staggering step, and both House and Cuddy reached out to grab hold of her.

"Are you okay?" Cuddy asked.

Kitty frowned. "I'm . . . fine," she said, but as the words left her mouth she became aware of a searing pain, her chest was on fire, the burn radiating down her arm, taking away her breath. She doubled over, clutching her chest.

House stepped closer to her, wrapping an arm around her back, steering her towards an empty chair. "Sit down. Is it angina? It's only been a few hours since you had one, but do you need another pill?" He sat down in the chair next to her and grabbed her wrist with one hand to check her pulse, reaching inside his jacket pocket for her tablets with the other.

Kitty shook her head, unable to breathe enough to talk. If it was angina it was the worst attack she'd ever had.

"She said she had a bad headache earlier." Kitty heard Cuddy's voice, and the note of anxiety in it.

Kitty could sense that she'd attracted the attention of the guests around her. She knew she should be embarrassed by that, but there were so many things going on in her body that she couldn't find room for it. Her head felt like it was splitting open in the worst migraine she'd ever had while her stomach churned. Her chest felt like it was in a rapidly tightening vise, and she was finding it harder and harder to draw breath.

She heard the rattle of pills and House curtly explaining her angina condition to Cuddy.

Then Steve's voice cut through and she felt his hand on her neck. "Catherine? How are you doing, sweetie? I did tell you not to go getting yourself in a state," he tut-tutted. "Her pulse is sluggish," he said to House, and Kitty was vaguely aware of thinking that if she _was_ going to have a heart attack, it was probably not a bad idea to do it in a room full of doctors.

"Yeah, so no more nitro," House said, his voice cutting through the babble around her. "Wait a minute; she said she had a headache too?"

Kitty opened her eyes to find House barely inches from her face, looking at her intently.

"Did you take anything else today? Anything for your headache? Anything for the stress?"

"I gave her some Tylenol in the bathroom just now, I saw her take it." Cuddy was leaning in just behind him.

"Her pulse is getting weaker and thready," Steve said. For some reason, hearing Steve's voice was reassuring. "Catherine?" he asked. "Did you take anything? Anything to help you get through the day?"

Kitty thought back to her glass of wine, to the bitter, chalky taste. She realised now what it tasted like. Like medication. "My wine . . ." she gasped.

"But—" House began.

Kitty heard nothing more as her chest imploded. Pain, more pain than she'd ever felt, ripped through her. She was vaguely aware of falling off the chair, of arms catching her before she hit the ground. Then, nothing.

-

* * *

-

"Fuck, she doesn't have a pulse, she's had an MI," House said frantically, searching for a pulse in her neck with one hand while his other supported her as she crumpled into his and Grosvenor's arms.

Grosvenor took most of her weight and helped lower her to floor. As soon as she was laid flat he and Cuddy pounced on her, desperately applying CPR. House wanted to push them out of the way and do it himself, but was rational enough to realise that doing so would waste precious seconds and that Cuddy and Grosvenor were more than qualified. Instead he grabbed his cell phone and dialled 911, handing it to one of the bystanders and telling them to get an ambulance.

"Someone go tell the hotel to get those paramedics in here the instant they arrive," House barked to the crowd that had gathered. "And if they have a portable defibrillator in their first aid kit, it might come in handy about now."

House felt every second tick past as he watched Cuddy blow into Kitty's mouth and Grosvenor pound on her sternum. Each time they stopped to check her pulse and Cuddy shook her head, House felt like his own heart was being slowly torn into pieces. After what felt like hours but was probably only a minute or two, a uniformed hotel employee pushed through the crowd, carrying a large first aid bag.

"I'm the first aid officer for the hotel, give me some space," he said, trying to push House out of the way.

"Medical school trumps fucking first aid course," House said, using his cane to hit the guy in the shins hard enough for him to lose his balance. He dropped the kit and House grabbed it, kneeling awkwardly on the floor to open it up.

Without warning Wilson appeared at his side, helping to open up the kit and get the adhesive shock pads organised. House nudged Grosvenor from his position over Kitty's chest. As Wilson ripped the cover off, the portable defibrillator began its recorded instructions, a composed male voice explaining the workings of the machine.

"Help me get her dress down," House said, before the voice had even begun to explain to remove the patient's clothing; no thought in his mind for anything other than the desperate need to get Kitty's heart beating again. Together he and Grosvenor lifted her torso so House could undo her zip and then reach around her back to unclasp her bra.

Wilson put the adhesive pads in place just as the stupid recorded voice from the defibrillator unit mechanically told them how to apply them. It made House want to smash it with his cane – except for the fact that it was the only thing between Kitty and waiting even more precious minutes for the paramedics and their non-talkie defibrillator to arrive.

"Clear," Wilson said, doing a quick scan around Kitty's body to make sure everyone was away from her before pressing the yellow button that, House noted, had a very helpful lightning bolt printed on it.

Kitty shuddered from the shock.

Cuddy checked Kitty's pulse at her neck again. "Nothing." She shook her head.

"Do it again," House said, urgently, unnecessarily.

"Clear," Wilson said again.

Once again he pressed the button to deliver the shock and Kitty's body arced.

"_Be sure emergency services have been called. It is safe to touch the patient._" House realised it was the machine's way of informing them that it had detected a pulse. He sent a desperate glance to Cuddy.

"Yes, it's weak and thready, but it's there," Cuddy said in response to House's unasked question.

Wilson grabbed a glittery shawl from a nearby chair and threw it over Kitty, hiding her naked chest. Cuddy and Grosvenor sat back on their heels, both taking in deep breaths, Cuddy keeping her fingers on Kitty's neck to monitor her pulse.

After a moment of silence in which the whole room seemed to take a breath, House exhaled loudly. "What the hell just happened?" His stomach felt as if it had been filled with lead.

"Why did she go into cardiac arrest?" Wilson added.

House shook his head, baffled. "She had an angina attack earlier and she was stressed. But she seemed fine just before this happened."

"It seemed to come on suddenly," Steve Grosvenor added. "Are you _sure_ she didn't take anything? A drug interaction—"

"Christ," House swore. He reached into his jacket pocket, a sudden, overwhelming dread gripping him as he remembered slipping his _other_ prescription into his pocket too. _Could he have given her the wrong pills?_ He pulled out the Nitrostat and shook his head. No, he was sure he'd given her the nitroglycerine. Besides, Kitty would have noticed.

"House!" Cuddy interrupted. "I saw someone touching her wine glass," she said, running a hand through her hair in her agitation. "Maybe they—"

"What? Who?" House turned sharply to Cuddy.

Cuddy shrugged. "She said that her wine tasted off and gritty. I didn't think anything of it, but if someone had put something in her drink . . ." Cuddy trailed off.

"Who did you see touch it?"

"A woman called Miranda – Denis Barnes's sister. She said she was an old friend of Catherine's."

"What? Old friend my ass," House said, his voice spitting with venom. "I don't understand how the fuck they ended up at this thing in the first place. Someone get hotel security. Find Miranda and that fat slug Denis. I know they've had something to do with this."

Just then the paramedics arrived and the gathered crowd stepped back to let them in. House stood up and pointed at Cuddy and Grosvenor. "Do _not_ leave her side." Both of them nodded their agreement.

Wilson stood up too, putting a hand on House's shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

"I'll be all right once I get my hand around that skinny, deformed bitch's throat," House replied.

House looked around the crowd. Even the musicians had stopped playing – there was clearly only one entertainment in the room and it was Kitty. He was grateful for Wilson's foresight to cover her up. He knew she'd be horrified to find out that most of the guests at the fundraiser had seen her naked breasts. His thoughts were somewhat preoccupied by that, when he realised that he'd actually scanned past the two people he was looking for. He trailed his sightline back and yes, there they were, the two of them standing together on the other side of the table to where Kitty was lying. Denis was looking upset and faintly sick, while Miranda's eyes gleamed with manic intensity.

"Security!" House yelled at a couple of stupid-looking uniformed bouncers who'd appeared along with the first-aid guy. "Grab those two." House made his way through the crowd, using his cane indiscriminately to push through where he needed to.

House somehow expected both Miranda and Denis to make a run for it, but they didn't – both stayed standing right where they were as he, Wilson and the two security guards leapt towards them.

"I don't understand," Denis said, looking confused.

"Of course you don't," House said spitefully. _What an idiot. _

"What did you do to her, bitch?" House spat at Miranda.

Miranda didn't flinch, simply smiled at him malevolently. "I just gave her some of my brother's vitamins," she said. Her voice was calm, pleasant, as if they were discussing the weather.

"Vitamins? What the—" House swung to Denis and reached out for him, almost grabbing the lapels of his suit before Wilson pulled him back.

"I wasn't go to hit him," House protested, wriggling in Wilson's grasp. "Search his pockets," he ordered one of the security guards.

"Sir, would you mind emptying out your pockets?" the guard asked politely. House wanted to strangle him for his manners – there was no time to waste.

Denis flushed slightly, but he did as he'd been asked. He pulled out a wallet, handkerchief, parking receipt and a cell phone. He then hesitated, his hand poised over the inside pocket of his jacket. "Well, this is rather embarrassing," he said, looking at the floor.

"What the hell have you got?" House demanded. Wilson's grasp had eased as Denis had cooperated with the security guard, but it suddenly tightened again.

Denis pulled out a white plastic bottle of pills.

"Viagra?" House yelled as he caught sight of the label, causing Denis to blush an even deeper shade of crimson. He turned to Miranda, filled with a white-hot rage that was fierce enough to almost blind him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?" The fact that he'd thought only a moment ago that he might have done exactly the same thing - although by accident - only increased his fury.

She smiled, and no one who saw it was in any doubt that the woman's sanity hung by a fine thread. "I told you she had a broken heart," Miranda said, her nose raised in the air smugly.

House felt himself go weak as he remembered the messages that had been delivered to him. _Miranda was behind them_. She clearly knew about Kitty's heart condition and, furthermore, the medication she took to cope with it. And what would happen if she "accidentally" ingested a vasodilator like Viagra.

"House!" Cuddy called over to him. "They're ready to transport her. They'll need someone who knows about her medical history when she gets to the hospital. You should go with her."

House was torn. On the one hand he was desperate to ensure Kitty was looked after correctly when she got to hospital. On the other, he didn't know how he could leave without making sure that Miranda and Denis were held accountable for their actions. House was vaguely aware that Seth Bannister, the Barnes lawyer, stepped forward.

"Miranda, what have you done?" the lawyer asked, shaking his head like a disappointed father.

"Yes Miranda, what have you done?" Denis asked. He'd clearly recovered from his embarrassment and he turned to stare at his sister with unconcealed anger. "You know what Father said. You've ruined everything."

Miranda simply giggled and wrapped her arms around herself.

The lawyer turned to House. "Dr House, go with Ms Brecht and be there for her. I'll make sure that Miranda is dealt with appropriately."

"And why should I trust you?" House didn't for a second think that Andrew Barnes's own lawyer would be remotely the best person to leave in charge of the situation.

"House, go," Wilson said, pushing House back towards where the paramedics had begun wheeling Kitty towards the doors. House noticed Steve Grosvenor was still by her side. "I'll stay here and call the police. I can tell them about the threats. Cuddy can tell them about seeing Miranda touching Catherine's wine glass. I'll call you as soon as we know more."

House paused for a moment, uncertain, but then scowled at Miranda before turning and striding as quickly as he could move towards the exit. A random woman from the crowd approached him and House almost pushed her out of the way until he realised she was returning his cell phone to him. He grabbed it without a word and caught up with the paramedic crew as they pushed her out the front door.

"What did she dose Catherine with?" Grosvenor asked as Kitty was loaded in the back of the ambulance.

"Viagra," House answered.

"Fuck."

House raised his eyebrows at the an uncharacteristic expletive from the older doctor.

"Get her on dialysis as soon as you get there," Grosvenor advised.

House just prevented himself from sneering – _of course that was what he was going to do._ For once he realised that the other man's advice was only prompted by concern.

"We're moving," the paramedic said, "get in if you're coming."

"You should come too," House said to Grosvenor. House figured Grosvenor had known Kitty longer. They were close – he might have insights to offer.

The older man shook his head. "I'll drive and meet you there. I assume you'll take her to Princeton Plainsboro?"

House nodded as he awkwardly climbed inside the ambulance. "See you there."


	21. Chapter 21

Just under an hour later, House was sitting in the ICU at Kitty's side. Sitting only because he could no longer stand. He wasn't usually one for hanging out at a patient's bedside, only his leg hurt too much to stand up and he simply didn't know where else to go.

Kitty was hooked up to a dialysis machine and heart monitor. As House well knew, there was very little else that could be done now – all they could hope was that the dialysis would flush her body of the drugs and that her heart would recover from the damage that had already occurred. Her blood pressure was still worryingly low, despite the volume of fluid they were pumping into her.

He sat and watched the monitors blankly, not even stirring when the nurses made their almost constant checks.

"House."

House almost didn't hear her. Cuddy's voice was quiet and, for somewhere filled with mostly unconscious patients, the ICU was noisy.

"House," she said again, raising her voice slightly. "How is she?"

House answered automatically. "She had a seizure in the ambulance and has had two episodes of severe bradycardia that she had to be shocked out of. But none since she went on dialysis."

He heard Cuddy draw in a little shaky breath.

"There's no specific anti-toxin for this kind of drug interaction but we've given her Levophed, Methylene Blue and the cardiologist is waiting to see if she needs a pacing wire." House was quite pleased with how bored he sounded. With any luck Cuddy would simply give him one of her lectures about not caring, get angry and storm off. He couldn't have her nearby right now. No one who knew him well enough should be close to this. Just in case he gave himself away.

"House." This time Cuddy's breath was a sob. "It's my fault. I invited Denis to the fundraiser."

"What?" House turned to face Cuddy, his bored persona momentarily slipping.

"I had no idea that Catherine had a history with them. I just thought it would be a good way for you and Denis to get to know one another. So I arranged for you and Catherine and Denis and Miranda to be on the same table."

"You had no idea that Miranda was certifiable," Wilson's clear tones called across the ICU. He quickly made his way over to where they stood and put an arm around Cuddy's shoulders.

Cuddy didn't lean into him, just stood there, looking devastated.

"Miranda has been arrested and is being held for a psych evaluation," Wilson explained to House. "They have the glass that Catherine drank from which seems to have some kind of undissolved powder in the bottom of it. And there were still a couple of loose pills in Miranda's purse. Plus the fact that she confessed in front of a hundred people. It's pretty clear cut, but the police want to talk to you and they want to see the notes she sent you. She'll more than likely be committed, House," Wilson said, clearly feeling House needed mollifying.

House shrugged. He couldn't find it in himself to care and wondered why. He'd usually be white hot with rage, he thought. But then he figured, he'd never actually been in a situation like this, so perhaps it was ridiculous to think he'd be able to predict how he would feel.

"The lawyer guy, Bannister, told me he wants to talk to you too," Wilson continued. "He said he'd call tomorrow to find out how Catherine was doing. Except he called her Kitty."

"Kitty," House said, nodding. "It's her name."

He saw both Wilson and Cuddy frown at what seemed to be a nonsense, but he ignored it.

"And Steve Grosvenor is on his way. He said he would stop by . . . uh, _Kitty's_ apartment to get some of her things." Wilson was obviously still uncertain about her name.

House wondered vaguely why Grosvenor had a key to Kitty's place when he didn't. After all, if he'd interpreted her mouthed message when he'd been up on stage at the fundraiser, she was supposedly his _fiancé_ now. He gave a little internal sigh of resignation – he should have known life wouldn't let something as good as Kitty happen to him. Perhaps this was his fault; after all he had tempted the fates by trying to lock his happiness in place with a marriage proposal. He shook those thoughts away. "Why would he go get her stuff? We don't even know if she's going to walk out of here yet." Again House's voice was void of emotion. He could have been talking about anyone.

Cuddy gave a weak gasp at House's statement.

Wilson spoke up. "I actually think he's avoiding coming here. He seemed like he was really in shock after you left in the ambulance."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," House muttered. Maybe that's what this was, this blankness. Shock. He could still see Kitty's body jolt as they'd defibrillated her. Then as she'd seized in the ambulance. And now: pale, still, her heart struggling to pump, lying in a hospital bed she might never get out of.

"House, I had no idea. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry." Cuddy twisted her hands together.

House wanted to yell at her for being an idiot. He wanted to curse and scream and call her every name under the sun until she was a weeping, cowering mess. But he simply couldn't find the energy for it. A rational voice in the back of his mind said, _it's not her fault._ The voice sounded so much like Kitty, House turned around, half-expecting her to have spoken.

"It's not your fault," Wilson said in unknowing echo, patting Cuddy's arm.

"But if I hadn't invited them, if I hadn't given her the opportunity—"

"—Then she would have found another one," House interrupted, not looking at Cuddy. "The woman had it in for Kitty. If she hadn't got to her there, she would have got to her somehow else." The idea made House shudder. He could picture the bottle of Viagra Wilson had prescribed him. He hadn't had cause to use it yet, but he'd been planning to that night. It was in his pocket now, but before that it had been lying around at Kitty's place. It would have been so easy for someone to . . .

Wilson cut into House's thoughts. "Why don't you go home, Lisa? I'll stay with House tonight and you can come back early in the morning."

"Are you sure?" she said shakily, but House could detect relief in her voice. "I should get home to Rachael, but I won't leave if you need me."

"I'll stay," Wilson said, encouragingly. "I'll call if anything happens."

House tuned them out as Wilson ushered Cuddy out of the ICU. He was left alone again with Kitty, watching her cardiac output on the monitor. It still wasn't completely stable, although it was good enough not to cause any alarms to sound.

Wilson returned, dragging another chair behind him. He placed it next to House and then sat down heavily. "Some night, huh?" he said.

House snorted.

"I take it that the little hypothetical you went through with me . . . the pervert was your father, wasn't he? And the stripper was Cath . . . uh, Kitty?"

House stayed silent, knowing that it was answer in itself.

"So his family weren't particularly fond of her then."

"Clearly," House said sarcastically, waving an arm to encompass the ICU, Kitty, and the monitors she was hooked up to.

Wilson nodded slowly, a grim set to his mouth. "Miranda was getting more and more hysterical as she went on tonight, House. She was saying that Kitty stole her father away from her. That Kitty stole money from him – which is what she wrote on that note. Is that true?"

House sighed. He'd been wondering the same thing. "No. I don't know. I don't think so. From what I understand Andrew Barnes gave Kitty money for her mother's care and for her education and living expenses. I can't see how she possibly stole anything from him. Why would he leave her a bequest in his will if she had?"

"Miranda called her father 'daddy'. A little strange for a fifty-plus year-old woman, wouldn't you say?"

"I don't know." House shrugged. "She's clearly psycho. Who knows what's strange for her?"

Wilson looked at House and an odd, almost nauseated expression crossed his face. "House, you don't think Miranda and her father . . ." he trailed off, clearly hoping House would get the implication without him having to spell it out.

"Well, it would explain a few things," House agreed. "What a shit of a father."

The two men sat silently for a while.

"No wonder I'm so fucked up," House said eventually.

Wilson simply frowned.

House stood up and stretched, pacing back and forward a few steps to get his leg moving.

"It's not genetic, House," Wilson said kindly.

"I know that."

"And it's not like you have to have these people in your life. After this you can just ignore them."

House shrugged. He didn't know about that. Of course he wanted nothing more to do with the Barnes family, but he wasn't sure if life was going to be that cooperative.

The two men waited in silence for some time, Wilson dozing in the chair, House pacing backwards and forwards. The cardiologist returned to check on Kitty and pronounced himself pleased with her progress and that there was no need for a pacing wire since she'd had no further bradycardia episodes for almost two hours. House wanted to argue, but he agreed, so instead he stood in the corner and scowled, letting Wilson play the part of the concerned family member.

"House, seeing as she's stable, I'm going to head home. Do you need anything?" Wilson asked once the specialist had left.

"Nah. I'm going to go take a nap in my office."

Wilson nodded. "You look like you could use a rest. Do you need me to bring in some clothes for you?"

House looked down and realised he was still wearing his tux. He'd completely forgotten. "I've got a change of clothes in the office. I can always sleep in scrubs."

Wilson nodded. "Okay. Good night House."

House waited until Wilson was well out of sight before going over to Kitty and doing one last check of her vitals. He felt an urge to kiss her, wondering absently if it would be like sleeping beauty, one kiss and she'd awaken – all would be forgotten and they'd live happily ever after. All the ingredients were there – except for one. "You're no friggin' handsome prince," House muttered to himself. He didn't kiss her, just turned around, walked to his office and fell into a restless sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

A loud bang – the janitor's cart hitting the window of his office – woke House, and he realised he'd been deeply and properly asleep for the first time since he'd left Kitty's bedside. His head had lolled to the side and there was a little trail of drool from his mouth. He had that confused, muddle-headed feeling of being momentarily unable to recall where he was. Once it all flooded back, though, he half-wished it had stayed away.

He checked his watch: eight-thirty. His team were all in the conference room – the blinds were drawn, someone must have done that while he'd been asleep – but he could see people moving around through the cracks. He figured Kitty must still be in the same condition – if anything had changed someone would have come to wake him.

_Coffee_.

Further thought about what to do next had to wait until after caffeine.

He got up and instantly sat down again, his leg in spasm from sleeping the night in a chair. Not to mention walking around the fundraiser and the standing-up sex with Kitty before that. Using his cane, he hooked his jacket from over the back of the desk chair where he'd thrown it the night before and turned the jacket upside down and shook it. Three vials of drugs fell out: Vicodin, Viagra and Nitrostat, Kitty's medication. He once again felt that sick feeling of dread, recalling how easily Miranda had poisoned Kitty. He threw the Nitrostat and the Viagra across the room in a futile fury and then dry-swallowed two Vicodin. After rubbing his leg for a couple of minutes, the drug began to kick in and he felt it safe to try standing again.

Pushing open the adjoining door to the conference room, he blinked in the light streaming through the windows.

"I didn't realise it was formal dress code today," Foreman quipped.

House looked down at himself. Too tired to be bothered to change even into scrubs, he was still wearing his black pants and white, French-cuffed shirt, his undone bow-tie still hanging around his neck. It was all pretty crumpled though. _Just as Kitty had wanted_, a voice reminded him. Although he doubted she'd imagined it might happen like this.

"Shut up," House said, too tired to come up with anything snappier. "Coffee." He slumped into a chair at the end of the table.

Taub gave him a weird look, but got up to pour him some, adding a little extra sugar, House was pleased to note. "Thirteen brought in some doughnuts if you'd like one," he offered as he put the cup down on the table.

House nodded. "Jelly."

Thirteen pushed a white box towards him.

"So," Foreman said after a moment of silence while the whole team seemed to watch House sip his coffee and bite into a doughnut. "Where's the file?"

House frowned.

"I'm assuming you snagged some mystery patient at that shindig you disappeared to last night and for some reason decided _not_ to call us out of our beds?"

"Not exactly," House said, his words barely discernible through his mouthful.

"Dr House?" A smartly dressed man with Italian shoes and a leather briefcase confidently opened the conference room door. "Seth Bannister," he said, striding forward, his hand held out.

House didn't take the lawyer's proffered hand, just gave it a withering look before taking anther bite of his doughnut.

The lawyer seemed unfazed, he lowered his hand and gave House a tight smile. "How is Ms Brecht doing this morning?"

House narrowed his eyes, trying to ascertain if the lawyer was genuinely interested or simply playing him. Without taking his eyes from the other man, House spoke to his team. "Go get me a status update on Catherine Brecht in the ICU."

House wasn't sure if it was a fluke, or simply eagerness to escape the sudden tension in the room, but all three doctors rose without question and left. As soon as they were gone, Seth Bannister took a seat.

House took another bite of his doughnut and chewed thoughtfully. "She's still alive, as far as I know," he answered eventually.

For a moment the lawyer's professional facade dropped. "I'm very sorry for what happened. I told both Andrew and Rachael several times that I felt Miranda required ongoing professional help, but I think they both refused to see how sick she was. She has been institutionalised a few times, but each time she appeared to recover and was released. Despite that, no one ever suspected she could be a danger to herself or anyone else. I'm afraid Andrew's death tipped her over the edge."

"Did he abuse her?"

Bannister shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No, I don't think . . ." The lawyer cleared his throat as if belated realising it was probably something he shouldn't comment on. "But I don't think Andrew was always the best father he could have been." He gave House a look that said a lot more than his words.

House snorted. "Nicely weaselled out of."

"Look Dr House, I don't know exactly what went on in that family. But I do know that he wasn't Miranda's biological father."

"What?"

"I shouldn't be telling you this, but Rachael had an affair and Miranda was the offspring. I have often thought that Andrew's affair with your mother was part revenge."

House swallowed hard. Knowing that made him ten times more relieved that he hadn't contacted his mother about any of this yet. "He was just an asshole all round, wasn't he? What a fucked up family."

"The thing is, Dr House, you now have some big decisions to make."

"What do you mean?"

"You know that Andrew put some conditions on his bequests to you and Kitty?"

House gave the lawyer a "duh" expression.

"Well, he also put conditions on his bequests to the rest of the family."

House rubbed his temples. He could feel the beginnings of a headache and he had to admit that a part of his brain was ignoring the lawyer's words and was entirely tuned on hearing the footsteps in the corridor outside that would mark the return of his team and news of Kitty's status. Trying to devote brain power to thinking about Andrew Barnes's last will and testament seemed increasingly difficult and he wondered why he was bothering anyway. He picked up his coffee and drained almost half of the still-steaming liquid, ignoring the burn in his throat.

"What conditions?" House asked eventually, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"That you be treated like a member of the family. That Denis, Miranda and Rachael – especially Rachael – treat you with respect, kindness and love."

House pulled a face. "You can't really expect me to believe that he thought he could _will_ that to happen. You can't demand people love someone." But even as he refuted the sense of what the lawyer was saying, he remembered the will reading. The strange, unsettling welcome he'd received. Affection, even. The fact that it had been faked wasn't all that surprising to House, what was surprising was that he hadn't picked it at the time.

"No, Dr House, you're right. But Andrew was disappointed that his family refused to let him contact you – to let him bring you into their lives. Rachael, in particular, was set against it. To be honest, I think his wishes are nothing more than petty revenge, but then my value judgements mean nothing here. So he told them to welcome you with open arms, to treat you as a long-lost family member. Or else," Bannister finished ominously.

"For fuck's sake get to the point," House said, irritated with the lawyer's indirectness.

"According to Andrew's will, if his family do anything to cause you unhappiness, his entire fortune is to be redirected to you."

House took another sip of coffee. He really didn't know what to say.

"It is my understanding that you and Kitty have become . . . close. So in my opinion, Miranda's actions contravene Andrew's stipulations."

"How do you know Kitty and I are together?" House said, ignoring the implications of the lawyer's words.

"We had to keep an eye on the situation to ensure the will conditions were being met," the lawyer hedged. "Certain other details came to light as we conducted that investigation."

"You spied on us?" House was certain that if he hadn't been so tired, he would have punched the other man by now.

Seth Bannister clearly saw the anger in House's eyes and he held up a mollifying hand. "Look Dr House, the important thing to focus on here are that you are now a very wealthy man. And Ms Brecht's recovery too, of course," he added hastily. "I have some papers here for you to look at and sign regarding Andrew's fortune." He pulled his briefcase onto his lap and opened it.

"Forget it. I'm not interested."

"But Dr House—"

"The patient is stable but still unconscious." Thirteen's brisk update interrupted the lawyer and House had never been more grateful to see her. "And Cuddy says that if you're awake you're to get your ass down there now."

"That's my boss," House said. "I'd better go." He stood up, ignoring Thirteen's astonished expression.

"But Dr House—" the lawyer said again, holding papers towards him.

"I'm not signing anything. They can live in limbo for a while waiting to find out what I do. That's only just approaching the kind of punishment they deserve."

House rose and strode out of the room as fast as he could. He wasn't necessarily all that keen to get to Kitty's bedside – knowing he'd just feel helpless and hopeless waiting there – but it was better than the alternative.

-

* * *

-

In the ICU, patients were generally only permitted one visitor at a time – if at all. Kitty's bedside was rather crowded in comparison. The cardiologist was there, intently concentrating on the strip from the heart monitor, and a nurse was changing her IV. Cuddy stood at the end of the bed, wringing her hands and looking as devastated as she had last night. Sitting in a chair with puffy eyes and a tuxedo almost as wrinkled as House's own was Steve Grosvenor, evidence of a sleepless night. His hand rested over Kitty's on the bed, provoking a surge of jealousy and guilt in House. This man had stayed with Kitty through the night while House hadn't. Perhaps he deserved her more.

"House," Cuddy said, the relief in her voice evident as she saw his approach.

Grosvenor turned his head and gave House a weak smile and a nod, but didn't move his hand. He was either extremely confident or – had House misinterpreted his affection? Given what had happened to Kitty it was easy to jump to the wrong conclusions, but perhaps Grosvenor there out of a genuine fatherly-like concern?

"How's she doing?" House asked gruffly, telling himself to concentrate. Getting jealous wasn't exactly productive at this point, whether it was warranted or not.

"She's been stable through the night," the cardiologist answered. "No arrhythmia and no more bradycardia. Her blood pressure seems to have stabilised around ninety over sixty. I'd like it to be a little higher, but that's not too bad."

"She seems to generally have low blood pressure," House said.

The cardiologist nodded. "I'm not too unhappy with it."

"The dialysis?" House asked, noting the machine was no longer there.

"They took her off it about an hour ago when her tox screen came up clean," Grosvenor said, speaking for the first time.

"So we just have to wait," Cuddy finished. The cardiologist gave them what House supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile, but it looked more like a grimace. The nurse completed her tasks, updated the chart and both she and the specialist left.

"_Just have to wait_," House echoed. He grabbed the seat that Wilson had dragged over and sat down in it heavily.

"Here, let's swap places." Grosvenor got up and offered the chair closer to Kitty's bedside to House.

"No I—" House fished about, trying to find some way to explain that he didn't want to sit and hold her hand.

"—Your place is here. With her." He put a hand on House's shoulder and gave him a firm stare. "I have to go home and change anyway. I need to go to work. Look after her and call me if anything changes. My wife's going to come in this afternoon and I'll come back as soon as I can."

House simply nodded and any jealousy he might have felt evaporated as he watched the man leave. Grosvenor might love Kitty, but it certainly wasn't in _that_ way. But now House felt obliged to accept the chair the other man had vacated, even though he hadn't wanted to play the worried patient's family member. Cuddy sat down next to him, effectively trapping him.

"House, I'm sure she was only down for two or three minutes at the most. We were doing CPR the whole time. I'm sure she's going to be okay." Cuddy put a hand on his arm.

"Yeah? Who are you trying to make feel better here? You or me?"

Cuddy's soothing hand made a quick retreat. She stood up. "I'll come back to check on you through the day. Let me know if you need anything." Her tones were clipped; he knew he'd got to her.

Before Cuddy had taken a step both of them heard a rustle in the bed. Kitty's arm raised and her hand touched her chest, fingertips going straight to one of the monitors stuck with tape to her.

"Catherine?" Cuddy asked, quickly stepping up to the bed.

"Kitty," House said, as if he was correcting her, but really he just wanted to say her name.

"Kitty, can you hear me?" Cuddy grabbed a penlight and lifted Kitty's eyelids to check her pupil response.

"Thirsty," Kitty mumbled.

"Thirsty?" House asked sarcastically. "After all those litres of fluids we've pumped into you?"

"She means her mouth is dry, House. Get some water," Cuddy ordered.

"Isn't that what nurses are for?"

Before House had even got all the words out of his mouth a nearby nurse who'd overheard appeared with some water and an irritated expression.

"Greg. I—" Kitty's hoarse voice broke. "What happened?"

House waited until the nurse and Cuddy had helped Kitty take a couple of sips of water. Suddenly it was too much to pretend to be unaffected. Hearing her say his name made his heart clench in realisation that he really hadn't known if he'd ever hear it again. He didn't know why, but for some reason he no longer cared if he made his affection and worry evident.

"Shh, Kitty." He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his, stopping her from exploring the monitors stuck to her. With his other hand, he brushed the hair back from her face.

"What happened?" she asked again, her eyes blinking open, but finding House's face and focusing on them.

"You had a heart attack," Cuddy answered. "Your drink was spiked and the drug that was put in it interacted with your angina medication."

"Drink spiking?" Kitty seemed confused and irritated. "Who else . . . ?"

"It was just you," House said interrupting, knowing that Kitty would be concerned about other guests. "Miranda Barnes put Viagra in your wine. In combination with the Imdur, it gave you severe hypotension and stopped your heart."

"Miranda?"

"She was trying to kill you."

"No . . ." Kitty frowned. "Why? Why would she do something like that?"

"Because she's mental," House said with his typical bluntness.

Cuddy made an irritated noise. "She's being assessed for psychiatric illness," she said. "We don't know exactly what's wrong with her."

"But she can't hurt you again," House said firmly.

Kitty smiled uncertainly and then shifted in the bed, trying to face him. As she moved, she let out a yelp of pain.

"What is it? Where does it hurt?" Cuddy asked frantically.

"My chest."

Both Cuddy and House's eyes went to the heart monitor which was quietly declaring a stable, although slightly elevated sinus rhythm.

"Like angina?" Cuddy asked, clearly still suspicious even with the evidence right in front of her.

Kitty shook her head. "No. More like aching pain."

"We had to shock your heart, Kitty," House explained. "Your muscles will be sore. And you've possibly got a couple of cracked ribs from the CPR."

Kitty nodded and closed her eyes again. Her grip on House's hand tightened. "I'm tired."

"We'll let you sleep," Cuddy said. She gave House a relieved smile and walked away.

House made to get up and Kitty's eyes flew open again.

"Don't leave me," she pleaded.

"Kitty, I—"

"Please." Tears welled in her eyes.

"Kitty, I'm just going to sit in the chair. I won't leave."

She gave him a watery smile. "It's just . . . I'll sleep better knowing you're there."

"I won't leave," House said again, settling down into the chair, still holding his hand in hers.

It was a while before her grasp relaxed and House knew she was sleeping. But he still held it, knowing he looked like any ordinary, worried family member. Lord knew what the hospital grapevine would make of it. For once, he didn't care.

-

* * *

-

Later that afternoon Kitty was transferred out of ICU to the cardiology ward. She'd slept most of the day but she still felt overwhelmingly exhausted, the worst case of jet-lag she'd ever had. House was true to his word and every time she opened her eyes he was there, playing his PSP, reading, or dozing, but _there_. Still even wearing his now totally dishevelled tux. He stayed by her side as they wheeled her to the new ward, then took charge of reorganising all the monitors she seemed to be attached to. Kitty didn't miss the annoyed looks on the nurses' faces, but she got a sense of security from knowing he was looking after her. He looked exhausted and drained, but it seemed he was keeping up a steady stream of silly conversation and barbed comments with her, or whoever else was a round whenever she was awake enough to listen.

"Is there anything else you'd like to hook me up to?" Kitty asked, exasperated after he made yet another adjustment to something. "The state's power grid? The TiVo?"

"Just keeping you sparky," he said with a cheeky grin. He pressed a sticky monitor point just below her collarbone and then lowered his hand to take her breast and give it a quick, firm squeeze.

"Greg!" Kitty looked around and saw the disgusted look on the nurse who was making notes on her chart.

"Breasts are fine, nurse, make a note of that."

"Catherine Brecht?" A man in a cheap, shiny suit and a tired-looking woman appeared in the doorway. "We're detectives – we need to ask you some questions about what happened last night."

"She's not ready for questioning," House said, his tone firm.

"And are you her doctor?" the female detective asked, one eyebrow raised.

"No, he's not," Kitty said.

House frowned at her.

"Greg, I'd just rather get this over and done with. It's going to have to happen at some point, and I don't want it hanging over me."

House gave her a clipped nod, clearly unhappy with her decision but letting her go ahead anyway. He turned to the detectives who'd approached the bedside. "Don't wear her out or get her upset. She had a heart attack last night and it's important her heart rate stays stable."

"Understood," the male detective said. "She called you Greg. Are you Greg House?"

"Last time I checked."

"Good. I'm glad you're here, we need to talk to you too. Now, Kitty, I'm Detective Byatt and this is Detective Carey." The woman gave her a short nod as her partner introduced her.

They asked Kitty for her recollection of the previous night and she did her best to remember it all. She told them about sitting next to Miranda, and about the brief, but intense, conversation they'd had. She remembered Miranda accusing her of stealing her father away from her. Then she remembered the speeches, and going to the bathrooms with Cuddy, but after that it all got very fuzzy.

"Just before you passed out you said your wine tasted funny," House prompted.

"Did I?" Kitty didn't remember saying that, but she did remember the wine. "I definitely remember the wine tasting off. And it was gritty. I just thought it was bad wine and I got the dregs from the bottom of the bottle."

"And Dr Cuddy has told us that she although she didn't see Miranda Barnes put the drug in your drink, she did see her place the wine glass on the table in front of your seat," Detective Carey noted.

"Thanks Ms Brecht for your cooperation," Detective Byatt said before turning to House. "Dr House, Dr Wilson told us you have the threats that were delivered to your office?"

"Threats?" Kitty asked. "What threats?"

House shrugged. "I just got a couple of strange messages at my office."

"Strange like how?"

House grabbed the folder that he'd stashed under the chair next to Kitty's bed and pulled out the two envelopes. He'd had Wilson go to his apartment to collect the first one, knowing that the police would want to see it.

"I think this one is evidence that Miranda knew about Kitty's heart condition and about the medication she takes." House pulled out the piece of paper that mentioned Kitty's broken heart and lay it on the bed. Both detectives leaned over to look at it.

"And this one . . . well, I don't know what this one means." He pulled out the second piece of paper. "Oh, and this came with it." He tipped the envelope out and the gold chain and cat charm fell onto the bed.

"Kitty Kat!" Kitty cried.

"What?" Everyone in the room seemed to ask the same thing at the same time.

Kitty picked up the chain and held it up to the light. "I called it Kitty Kat. Andrew bought this for me when my mother died. It was stolen from my apartment about a year later. It was a weird break-in, the police found forced entry, but nothing else was stolen except this and some of my angina medication. They decided that a neighbour or someone must have come along and scared them away before they'd had a chance to get anything else."

"Looks like Miranda stole it," House mused.

"Ms Brecht, can you remember the details of that robbery? Your address at the time?" Detective Carey asked.

Kitty gave them an upper west-side address and, after a few more questions – and collecting the messages and the chain as evidence – the detectives left.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about those threats," Kitty said.

House sat down heavily. "I really wish I had now. I wish I'd taken them more seriously. If I had, you might . . ."

"We can't change what happened," Kitty interrupted. "And even if you had told me, we never would have imagined Miranda was behind it."

"No, that's true." House shook his head. She was right, he knew, but it somehow didn't lessen the guilt he was feeling. "I didn't tell you about them because I got the first one on Monday – and our Monday night turned out to be quite eventful, if you'll remember."

Kitty nodded.

"And I got the one with the cat chain yesterday. You were already so stressed out with the fundraiser, I didn't want to worry you. But I was going to tell you after that."

Kitty was silent for a while. "I can't believe that she seriously wanted to kill me. I don't know what I did to be so important in her life."

"Nothing," House said, grasping her hand and holding it tight. "You did nothing. This was all her game, nothing to do with you. Don't let it get to you."

Kitty took in a deep breath. House was glad to see that the interview with the police and all the conversation had only slightly elevated her heart rate. But she looked pale and drawn.

"I'm so tired," Kitty said eventually, blinking against heavy eyelids.

"I know, sweetheart. Get some rest."

Kitty closed her eyes and nodded slowly. "You get some rest too. I'm fine now."

"I'll stay for a while – until you go to sleep," House offered.

"That'd be nice," Kitty said sleepily.

As it turned out it wasn't a particularly generous offer. She was asleep less than a minute later. House sat for a while, stroking her hand, before he got up to go home. He really needed to get out of the tux.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Thanks everyone so much for your lovely comments. Sorry I haven't been able to reply personally as I would like to, life has been a little hectic recently. We're getting very, very close to the end! Short chapter, but I will post again shortly.

-

* * *

Five days later, Kitty walked back into her apartment. House carried her small bag and she walked gingerly, her ribs still sore and aching.

"I can't wait to sleep in my own bed," Kitty said, genuinely excited by something so simple. "Those plastic sheets on hospital beds are all crunchy and uncomfortable."

"Would you prefer they didn't have them? Knowing that the last patient who slept there might have—"

Kitty held up a hand to stop him. "Please, don't continue. You're right, but I like being able to complain."

"Are you going to bed, or what?" House asked, taking a step toward the bedroom.

Kitty shook her head. "No. I'd like to just sit on the couch for a while, have a coffee and feel normal."

House shrugged. "Okay." He headed down to the bedroom to dump her bag.

Kitty had no sooner sunk down into the cushions when there was a knock at the door. She groaned, not wanting to get up to answer it. Apart from her ribs she felt fine, but tired and weak. She figured the weakness was more than likely from the unnecessarily extended bed rest that her doctor had insisted on. Not without some serious persuasion from the constantly interfering Dr House, Kitty suspected.

"Greg, can you get that?" Kitty called out.

House appeared looking grumpy. "What did your last slave die of?"

"Too much sex," Kitty quipped.

House rolled his eyes, but gave her a little grin.

When he opened the door, Kitty could barely see the delivery guy through a massive arrangement of flowers. House searched his wallet for a tip and asked the guy to bring them in and put them on the table – they were too big for House to hold in one hand. After the door closed behind him, House let out a low whistle.

"Someone loves you. And it's not me."

"You do love me. You just wouldn't spend a ridiculous amount of money on flowers." House gave her a smile that let her know she was right. "Who sent them?"

He searched for the card and pulled it out, frowning when he read the name.

"Who is it?"

House looked for a moment as if he might not tell her, but then he brightened up, a smile plastered over his face. "Princeton Plainsboro. Cuddy's guilt knows no bounds." He crumpled up the card and tossed it in the trash in the kitchen.

"It's not her fault. I've told her that a million times," Kitty said. She sighed. _It was no one's fault except a deranged woman who now resided in a mental facility getting the care she needed. _Despite how unpleasant Miranda had been to her – despite the fact that she'd _tried to kill her_ – Kitty couldn't find it in herself to hate the other woman.

House made them both coffees and they sat on the sofa to watch TV. Thanks to Cuddy's generosity – or guilt – he didn't have to go back to work until Monday, so she had another three days of him with her at home. So far so good, but Kitty knew domestics weren't House's strength. She wondered how long it would be before he started to get restless.

As it turned out it was less than an hour.

"I need to go back to my place," House said abruptly after he'd played with the television remote for ten minutes without settling on anything.

Kitty nodded. She knew he needed space. They hadn't discussed marriage since the fund raiser and Kitty was starting to wonder if she'd imagined it. House had been surprisingly patient and caring while she'd been in hospital, keeping his temper in check and even curbing his sharp tongue around the nurses who took care of her. After that first day he hadn't been with her twenty-four seven, but at the minimum he'd come to see her three times a day: each morning when he came into work, sometime mid-afternoon and then he'd spend a few hours with her before she went to sleep at night. When no one else was watching – and often when he thought she was asleep – he would stroke her hair, or press a kiss to her hand, or run his finger down her cheek. But she knew at heart he was a loner. She didn't mind, she knew it was one of the things she'd have to accept about him if they were going to make thing work between them. But she couldn't help wondering if her heart attack, her sudden unplanned neediness, had changed his mind about them having a future together.

"No problem," she said, trying to sound breezy. "You go. I can take care of myself here. I'll probably take a nap and I've got some soup frozen in the freezer. Then I'll just take myself off to bed. Maybe you could come back tomorrow?"

He frowned and a funny expression crossed his face. He shrugged. "Yeah, okay." He picked up his jacket from where he'd thrown it over one of the sofas. "Anything you need me to bring?"

Kitty shook her head. She had a funny feeling something important had just happened, but she wasn't sure what. Watching him pick up his jacket made her feel suddenly teary, and she gave herself a mental slap. So what if she was going to be on her own on her first night out of hospital? It was how she'd managed for most of her life. It wasn't like she was incapacitated, she was just a little weak. She could walk, go to the toilet, make herself food. She didn't really need him to stay.

But oh God, she _wanted_ him to stay.

"Right then." He gave her a curt nod, turned on his heel and left, shutting the door hard behind him.

Kitty felt a tear well over the edge and roll down her cheek. _He hadn't even kissed her goodbye._

She sat for a while feeling sorry for herself before picking up their empty coffee mugs and taking them back into the kitchen. She thought for a moment about calling Steve Grosvenor, but he and his wife had already done so much for her. Apart from House they'd been her most regular visitors, popping in with flowers and little treats like the dark-chocolate Sees candies that were her favourite.

Kitty glanced at the trash can and noticed the crumpled white card from the flowers sitting on top. Without knowing exactly why, she reached in and pulled out it, straightening it so she could open it again to read the message inside.

_With our best wishes for a speedy recovery, Seth Bannister and the staff at Bannister McKinnon_.

Why would Andrew's lawyers be sending her flowers? And why would House lie about who sent them?

Just as the thought crossed her mind, there was another knock at the door. Kitty's heart soared: _he'd come back._

"Just a minute," she called out, gingerly making her way over to the door, knowing she had a goofy smile on her face. "We really need to get you a key if you . . ." Her words trailed off as she opened the door. It wasn't him.

-

* * *

-

House was in a foul mood by the time he got back to his apartment. He wasn't sure if he was angry with Kitty, with himself, or the world in general. He slammed the door hard, pretty sure he was angry with it.

He'd been all ready to share his life with Kitty. _Fuck, he'd asked her to marry him_. But she didn't even need him when she was an invalid. She'd sent him away without so much as a second thought. He'd just needed to pick up some clothes, but otherwise he'd planned to spend the next few days with her, making sure she was okay, taking care of her in his own way. Although he knew it would probably be chaste for a while until she got her strength back, he had been looking forward to sleeping next to her again for the first time in nearly a week; feeling her body next to his; sleeping deeply the way he'd discovered he only did when she was there.

But now every instinct he had screamed at him to run, to push her away before she could finish the job and get rid of him for good. Just like with Stacy. He'd seen in her eyes that it was too much, that she was going to go. He'd pushed and pushed until she had no choice because at the time he hadn't had the strength to tell her to go. This time was different. It was time to get rid of Kitty – be the _dumper_ before she had the chance to make him the _dumpee_.

Why then, did the very thought of doing so make his stomach flip over?

It was all so illogical and irrational.

He poured himself a shot of bourbon, the liquid sloshing over the side of the glass in his irritation. He downed it in one.

House didn't _do_ illogical or irrational.

It was irrational for a woman who'd had a heart attack six days ago, her life threatened by attempted murder, to want to be on her own so soon. It was illogical for House, a doctor, to let someone in a weakened condition spend their first night out of hospital alone.

So logically, rationally, it made sense for him to pack his clothes as he'd originally intended, pick up some takeout, and go back to her place. Purely to ensure that she didn't do anything to set back her recovery and so that someone was there in case she suffered some kind of unforeseen complication.

House headed into the bedroom, opening drawers and pulling out random handfuls of t-shirts and underwear. He grabbed a gym bag and began stuffing it full.

It was logical and rational.

He was really glad he'd made an argument that made sense. Because otherwise, running back to her in spite of her rejection might make him look like he was pathetically in love.


	24. Chapter 24

Kitty took a couple of wary steps backwards, not thinking of anything except how the light from the setting sun glinted off the silvery gun. Her brain told her that it was probably time to put some lamps on, a random, useless thought that kept her from thinking about much else.

"I'm probably not going to shoot you. I just need to make sure you listen to me. Sit down."

Kitty felt her way to the sofa, not turning away from the gun and the person holding it. Such an incongruent pairing – the small, neat, silver gun and the grandmotherly look of its owner.

"Rachael, you don't have to do this," Kitty said, doing as ordered and sitting down. The sudden shot of adrenaline through her body had her heart racing and her stomach churning.

"You took everything from me," the woman said, her voice steadier than Kitty would have expected. She sat down on the sofa opposite Kitty, resting the hand with the gun on her knee.

"I don't understand." Kitty had some sense that it was better to keep talking – wasn't that what they always did on the cop shows? Keep the gunman – or woman – talking? Only this time Kitty had no idea what that would achieve. Keep her talking until what? She saw sense? The one person who might rescue her had already made his intentions for the night clear.

"You took Andrew away from his children. You took Miranda away. And now you've taken our livelihood away. I really don't understand what I ever did to you, to make you destroy my life like this."

Again, Kitty was struck by the fact that although Rachael's words were impassioned, her tone was calm, flat.

"Rachael, I . . ." Kitty trailed off. What should she do? Agree with the mad woman with the gun? Or defend herself? One of the things she'd said didn't make sense. "_Livelihood?_"

"Yes. Now that Andrew's fortune has all gone to that bastard son of his, I've got nothing left. Barely enough to live on." Rachael's voice finally started matching the vitriol of her words. She practically _spat_ the word "bastard".

"Greg has inherited all of Andrew's fortune?" Kitty asked, confused.

"Don't pretend you didn't know. After what Miranda did, Andrew's entire estate now goes to him. And I'm sure you've found a way to tie him to you, so you can bleed him of everything he has, just like you've done to everyone else in this family."

Kitty shook her head. "I didn't know." _Why hadn't he told her?_

"Andrew was _my_ husband," Rachael said vehemently.

Kitty noticed the gun in her hand had begun to shake. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"He was _my_ husband and my children's father. I know I should never have strayed, but I learned my lesson. He didn't need to take revenge. And then he went and showered his love on a bastard son he rarely saw and spent his money on a substitute daughter who was no better than a whore."

Kitty felt the adrenaline in her system give another surge, this time in anger. "Andrew told me about your family. About how after he had an affair you tried to control his life. About how little love there was in your family; no love for each other, just love for money and power and control over others."

"You have no right—"

Both Kitty and Rachael spun to face the door as they heard it open with a rush. Since Rachael had arrived, the sun had set and the apartment was dim. The lights in the building's hallway had come on and neither of them could see who stood in the doorway; just a large, male shadow.

The shadow stepped inside and closed the door.

"Mother." Denis Barnes shook his head in rebuke. "I told you not to come here."

"Denis! This is nothing to do with you. Let me take care of things." Rachael sounded like a mother scolding a wayward teenage son.

Denis turned to Kitty. "I'm very sorry." He shrugged. "I'm sure you regret the day my father met you."

"If she doesn't now, she soon will," Rachael said threateningly.

"Mother, we both know that you have no intention of shooting Kitty. Let's stop all this now before it goes too far." Denis stepped closer to his mother and held out a hand.

Rachael's mouth quivered and Kitty saw the woman's desperation and grief struggling for release. She lifted the gun, and Kitty wasn't sure if she was going to hand it to Denis or shoot her. Kitty swallowed hard, her fear a solid lump in her throat.

When the door opened again, this time slamming back against the wall, it seemed to Kitty like time miraculously ground to a crawl.

House's unmistakably tall frame stepped from the brightly lit corridor into the dim apartment. "I got those Malaysian noodles you—" His voice was loud and full of cheer until he broke off suddenly.

Rachael leapt up, her hand rising.

Denis took a step forward, his arm reaching out. "No!"

And then the bang.

Funny, Kitty thought, it didn't sound at all like it did on the movies. Loud, but kind of flat.

Kitty fell back in the sofa, a weight against the side of her body. For a moment of pure panic she clasped her hands around herself, desperate. Wet warmth began seeping into the jeans she was wearing. And then she realised. The weight was from Denis. And so was the blood.

Rachael had shot her own son.

He'd fallen on Kitty and was bleeding. And groaning. He wasn't dead. There was another noise in the room, but Kitty couldn't process it.

"Fuck." The exclamation came from the doorway, followed by the thump of takeout bags hitting the floor.

"Greg, help me." Kitty tried to push Denis off her, but his weight was too much. A moment later House was by her side, pulling the other man until he slumped onto the floor.

"Are you all right? Where—" House began frantically searching her leg, looking for the bullet hole.

"No, no, it's not . . . It's Denis's . . . his blood," Kitty stammered.

"Thank God," House muttered, pausing only a moment to look at her and press his blood-stained hand to her cheek. He then quickly turned his attentions to the man moaning on the floor. "Turn some lights on and call 911," he said, ripping his cell phone from his pocket and throwing it at Kitty. Too stunned to do anything else, Kitty reached for the lamp and switched it with one hand, while the trembling fingers of her other found the keys on the phone.

"I need the police and an ambulance. Someone's been shot," Kitty said, amazed her voice actually worked. As she spoke she became aware of another noise in the room. The high, keening sound of Rachael.

"I shot my son, I shot my son," she wailed.

Kitty gave the operator her address automatically, unable to tear her eyes away from watching as House examined Denis.

"Get me something to stop the bleeding," he ordered. "A towel, a sheet, something."

Kitty just stood there, watching in horrified fascination.

"Kitty! Now!"

His barked command seemed to bring Kitty out of her spell. She finished up the call with the 911 operator, who assured her help was moments away, and then hurried over to the cabinet where she kept all her clean linen. She grabbed a couple of towels and handed them to House.

"It's a clean wound, the bullet went through his shoulder," House said, as he put one towel underneath and pressed the other into the top of Denis's left shoulder. "As long as we can contain the bleeding and get him to hospital soon, he'll be fine."

Kitty nodded, her breath coming fast, her pulse still pounding in her ears. Not sure what to do, she turned and looked around the room, almost surprised to find Rachael still there. Denis's blood everywhere had almost been enough to make her forget what had caused it in the first place.

She walked over to where the older woman stood, the gun still gripped in her hand, her eyes wide and horrified as she looked at her son lying on the floor. For some reason the panic and distress Kitty could see in Rachael's eyes calmed her own panic a little. "Rachael?" Kitty said, putting a hand on her arm. "Put the gun down. He's going to be okay."

Rachael's body seemed to sag and the gun slipped from her hand, bouncing off the carpet and landing under the coffee table. Kitty didn't bother touching it further. She pressed on Rachael's shoulder and the woman collapsed onto the sofa, her hands coming up to clasp, prayer-like, under her chin.

"I shot my son, I shot my son," she repeated.

Kitty sat down and put an arm around her, trying to calm her down. "It's okay, he's going to be okay. Everything will be okay."

-

* * *

-

When the police arrived a few minutes later, the scene had barely changed. Kitty held Rachael, who'd begun to rock back and forth and was still repeating her guilty chant. House was on the floor with Denis, pushing down hard on his shoulder in an attempt to stem the bleeding from the gunshot wound. Denis was conscious, but not talking, just letting out an occasional guttural moan.

Kitty told the police who walked in through the open door where the gun was resting, and as soon as one of the cops had picked it up, removed the ammunition, and sealed it in an evidence bag, the tension in the room dropped markedly.

The paramedics arrived only moments later and House stepped back to let them take over Denis's care, just as Kitty stepped back from Rachael as the police took her into custody.

After that, events moved swiftly. The police got a brief explanation of events from both Kitty and House and warned them that they'd be required to give formal statements. They'd wanted to take them to the station straight away, but House had protested and they'd seemed to either take pity or just see that it would be easier to give in to his demands. He also commandeered the paramedics' spare blood pressure cuff, making Kitty sit down so he could check her out while the police did their final inspections of the apartment.

"How do you feel?" he asked once they were alone again.

"Shaky and faint," Kitty answered, her voice weak.

"Lie down." He pushed her so she lay flat on the sofa.

"I felt fine before, it's just hitting me now."

House nodded. "The adrenaline kept you going. Now you're probably in shock."

"Yeah, probably," Kitty repeated.

House said on the edge of the couch next to her. He checked the pulse in her throat and sighed. "We should probably take you to the hospital. Monitor you there," he said. "I'll get the cops to call us another ambulance."

"No," Kitty protested, struggling to sit up.

House pushed her back down again with a fierce look. "Stay."

"I don't want to go to hospital," Kitty said, her voice whiny enough to do a teenage girl proud. "I'll be fine."

"You're covered in blood," House pointed out.

"It's not mine and so are you," she countered, grabbing his hands and holding them up to show the blood crusting around his fingernails.

He shook his head, giving her a faint smile. His finger traced her face and Kitty trailed where he'd touched her, realising there was dried blood there from when he'd pressed her cheek right after Denis had fallen on her.

"So if we clean up here, maybe we should go back to my place?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow. "Seeing as life in this apartment seems to be a little too exciting?"

"And we could get some more Malaysian noodles on the way?" Kitty asked, her bottom lip beginning to tremble.

"Sure." House gave her a grim smile.

-

* * *

**A/N:** Penultimate chapter! Just a small chapter to come, to tie up a few things. Will post it soon. Thanks again everyone, for all your lovely comments on this, my first foray into crime drama (well sort of!). Every review really means a lot.


	25. Chapter 25

Once the police left, and after making sure that Kitty was strong enough on her feet, House stripped off his bloody clothes and had a quick shower. Kitty quickly followed and packed a small bag to stay with him for a few days. They picked up fresh takeout and before long were ensconced on his sofa, chopsticks in hand, beers on the table in front of them. The TV was on, showing some cop crime drama that House had tried to change, but Kitty insisted on watching out of some twisted sense of irony. She didn't seem to be in shock, House thought. Definitely shaken, but otherwise she seemed surprisingly resilient.

"I'm so glad you came back," Kitty said after they'd been eating in silence for a while.

"So am I," House said lightly, trying not to let his relief show. He hadn't really thought too much about everything that had happened, just dealt with each thing as it occurred. Treated Denis, dealt with the police, checked out Kitty. All the practicalities hadn't left room for _what ifs_.

"I didn't think you would." She wasn't looking at him as she spoke.

House shrugged and used his chopsticks to shove more noodles into his mouth.

"You said, 'I need to go back to my place.' I thought you needed some space."

"You didn't let me finish," House said around his mouthful. "I was going to say, 'I need to go back to my place to pick up some clothes for tomorrow'. And then I was going to ask what take out you wanted me to get on my way back."

"You were?" Kitty turned to face him, her eyes wide.

"Yes, you idiot."

"I guess . . . it's hard for me to imagine that someone wants me, wants to take care of me, without wanting something in return."

House frowned and put down his noodles on the table. He took a swig of beer and then gave Kitty a serious look. "Well, I do want you and I do want to take care of you. But I _do_ want something in return."

A faint blush rose on Kitty's cheeks. "Oh, you mean—"

"Yes, _that_, of course," House interrupted. "But also I want you to _want me_, and to _take care of me_ too."

"Oh." Kitty fell silent for a while, staring down at the cardboard box of noodles in her hand. Then she looked up and smiled tentatively. "I think I can do that."

"Good." House took the noodles out of her hand and held her chin with his long fingers. He leant in and kissed her, for once unashamed of demonstrating his affection.

Kitty gave him a smile and stroked a finger down his cheek. But then her smile faltered and she sat up straighter. "But Greg, no more secrets, even if you think you're protecting me. You didn't tell me about the threats and you didn't tell me the flowers were really from Bannister McKinnon."

House pursed his lips into a thin line. He didn't want to think about all that, not now, not when he was so close to his happy ending.

"And Rachael told me that because of what Miranda did, Andrew's whole fortune goes to you. Is that true?"

House frowned at the floor, avoiding her interrogating gaze. "Yeah, it is. That's what the lawyers say, anyway."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He continued to look at the floor, knowing he finally had to face what he'd been trying very hard to ignore.

"I didn't tell you because I wanted to pretend it wasn't happening." His own blatant honesty surprised him. He'd been ignoring calls from the lawyers all week and he knew the flowers they'd sent to Kitty were really a reminder to him of their unfinished business. "And because I have no idea what to do about it."

"Well that part's a no brainer," Kitty said.

Her carefree tone made him look up at once. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "It's easy. You refuse. I don't know about you, but I don't really want to have anything more to do with the Barnes family. Or their money. Tell the lawyers you refuse to sign the papers. Leave the estate for Denis. Sell the lake house and the Paris apartment and use the money to create your own trust fund for the PRC. Then we can refuse the Barnes Trust funding there too. We'll never have to deal with them ever again."

House thought it over. It just might work.

Except for one thing.

"You don't want to have anything to do with the Barnes family?" House asked.

Kitty nodded.

"But I'm part of the Barnes family. He was my father."

Kitty shook her head. "John House was your father. For better or worse, he and your mother are responsible for the person you are today – in all your annoying glory," she teased, giving him a loving smile. "Andrew Barnes gave you some DNA, but that's it. Just like he gave me some money, and that's it."

"Pretend it doesn't matter?" House suggested with a sad little laugh, recalling the intensity of that night when she'd come to him, cold and broken. He tried to tell her to pretend then, knowing that it wouldn't work.

Kitty shook her head. "No. No pretending. It _doesn't_ matter. We are who we are because of our past." She grabbed her hand and put it on her chest between her breasts, and then reached over and pressed her hand gently into his right thigh.

"We've both got our scars," House said, guessing the intent of her gesture.

"Exactly. How they happened didn't matter. What we do with our lives now does."

"Like getting married?" House asked.

Kitty flushed and looked away. House was immediately concerned. "What?"

"I thought you'd forgotten," she said in a small voice.

"Forgotten? Of course not. Let's elope to Vegas next weekend."

Kitty looked up at him, her eyes shiny with tears but a big grin on her face. "Elope?"

"Why not? It's not like we have families who need us to have a big occasion."

Kitty chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'd like Steve to give me away. He's really the one who's been like a father to me."

"Sure. Invite him."

"And . . ." Kitty trailed off looking uncertain.

"And?" House asked, starting to feel nervous at Kitty's hesitant expression.

"And can we have Elvis as the celebrant?"

He laughed. "Whatever you want."

-

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews and messages. This is officially my longest House fiction ever, so your encouragement definitely helped me keep going.

It will probably be a while before I return with a new fic. In the meantime, why not read an old one? I am particularly proud of "I Hate Weddings" a recent story that has relatively few hits, so I encourage you to check it out. It's a twist on the House/one-night-stand/pregnancy thing. (Don't forget to leave me a review if you do!)

I'd also like to thank whoever it was who nominated "Too Much Too Soon" and "Through the Looking Glass" in the House Awards. I don't know who you are, but appreciate the recognition! Especially given Too Much Too Soon was my first ever fic and it's probably a bit rough. Might have to go back and read it myself! (I've put a link to the awards page on my profile if you want to know more.)

Thank you all again so much -- I hope you've enjoyed the ride!


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